Bromance Big Bang: I Catch You - Queen's Thief, Gen/Helen [1/2]
Title: I Catch You
Author(s): rattyjol
Artist(s): enochia
Fandom(s): Queen's Thief
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~6500
Characters/Pairings(if any): Gen, Helen, various Eddisians
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Summary: Conversations between a Queen and her Thief, before they were that. Lessons learned and friendship shared from childhood to adulthood. Pre-series.
Written for the bromancestory Big Bang.
Fanmix by enochia over here: [LINK]
ETA: And some art of my own over here: [LINK]
Gen scrambled up the tree trunk, bark rough under his palms as he leapt easily from branch to branch.
"Come down, Eugenides," one of the cousins yelled up at him. "You can't stay up there forever."
Standing on one of the whippy top branches that narrowly held even his slight weight, Gen scowled down at the boys in the courtyard. From this height they looked like ants, except angry. "Come up and get me!" he yelled back, in what he imagined was a confident, defiant tone.
A few of the boys did try to follow him, but were struck suddenly by vertigo and quickly came back down. Phaedrus made it an impressive halfway up the tree before giving in.
"Come on, Gen," he called, trying to hide his relief at returning to solid ground. "Just tell us where you put the necklace."
Clinging stubbornly to his branch, Gen stuck out his tongue and blew them a raspberry.
They shouted at him for a few more minutes, but soon got bored and wandered away, grumbling.
Helen stepped out from behind a pillar. "You've got to stop doing this, Gen." An onyx pendant dangled from her hand, suspended on a leather thong. "Sooner or later they're going to catch you."
"Will not," Gen declared, shinnying down the trunk. He leapt down from the lowest branch to land nimbly beside her.
She snorted. "Show off." Handing him the necklace, she added, "Next time you want to hide something in a planter, bury it properly. Is that the necklace Timos won in the sparring contest last week?"
"No," Gen said, the very picture of innocence. He darted behind her to tie the leather cord around her neck with quick fingers, careful of the bandages taped across her nose. "It's the necklace you won in the sparring contest last week."
"Gen, Temenus beat me, and then Timos beat Temenus. You were there."
"Temenus cheated," Gen insisted. "I saw him. He just didn't want to be beaten by a girl. You would've won."
Helen grinned and tucked the pendant inside her blouse. "Well I'm glad you think so highly of me."
"Of course I could have beaten you," Gen added loftily. "If I'd wanted to."
"Of course." Helen nodded seriously.
"I'm hungry," Gen announced, grabbing her hand. "Let's go get something from the kitchens."
*
Helen had known this day was coming since she was a little girl, but it was still a shock when she returned to her chambers to find her mother and Xanthe sifting through her wardrobe, carefully sorting the garments into two piles.
"Mother?" she asked, confusion coloring her voice. "What's going on?"
Xanthe held up a threadbare riding shirt. The queen pointed at the larger of the two piles and Xanthe set it down carefully.
"Helen, dear, there you are," her mother said with a regal smile. "Xanthe and I were just deciding which of your clothing is appropriate."
"Appropriate?" Helen seized a tunic from the larger pile. It was old and soft, comfortably worn in all the right places. "You've never had a problem with me wearing these before."
The queen directed a forest green gown to the smaller pile. "You were a child before, dear. I think it's about time you grew up, don't you?
"Mother!" Helen began hotly, before realizing that she had no argument that wouldn't sound childish. She could be a woman and still ride, couldn't she?
"And smile, dear. Don't look so angry all the time. You're a princess; do try to act like it."
Helen tucked the tunic under her arm and spun on her heel, marching angrily out into the hall and down the corridor. So what if she didn't smile vapidly all the time and giggle at inanities? So what if she liked riding, instead of considering horses smelly beasts whose only use was pulling carriages? So what if she didn't act like a princess? It wasn't like she was ever going to be queen.
She found herself at the stables before she even made a conscious choice to go there, and headed straight for Nestor's stall. But when she arrived, her pony had gone.
"She didn't," Helen hissed to empty air, nails digging into the wood of the stall door. Surely her mother wouldn't have taken away Nestor? But as she stood there, she noticed a curious set of shapes traced into the clean hay on the stable floor. On closer inspection, Helen realized it was her own name, written in archaic. She smiled.
He was waiting out behind the stables, face upturned to the sun. Nestor grazed happily a few yards away.
"Gen, did you steal my pony?"
"I would never!" The boy's eyes widened innocently. "He looked hungry, so I brought him out to graze. But while he's out, would you like to go for a ride, m'lady?" He bowed mockingly.
"I would love to," Helen said, equally grave. Soon seated comfortably in the saddle, she raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you missing something, though?"
"Missing something?" Gen trotted in place, mimicking a horse's gait. "I think not."
She stifled a laugh behind her hand. "Onwards, then."
Gen galloped towards the trail. "Onwards!"
*
"Look at this, Helen!" Janus pushed his dinner plate to one side with a clatter and set an oilskin bag carefully in its place. When he pulled on the string, it fell open, revealing a pile of screws and other small metal parts. Some had been pieced together with a careful hand; others showed the five-year old's impatient excitement. He grinned proudly up at his sister. "Sten gave them to me."
Helen smiled. "Is he teaching you how to make clocks?"
Janus nodded vigorously. "I'm going to make the best clocks in all of Eddis!"
"I'm sure you will," Helen said indulgently. Janus had a new career aspiration every few days. Last week he had been determined to learn smithing, even though the top of the anvil came up to his shoulder.
Gen piped up from across the table. "Sten isn't supposed to take parts out of the clockmaker's shop, you know." He looked extraordinarily proud.
Janus's eyes widened. "Should I give them back?"
"Of course not!"
"Gen," Helen chuckled. "Don't teach my brother bad habits."
Gen looked at her innocently. "What bad habits?"
"It's not enough that Stenides has to spend his days tinkering," Calais could be heard commenting a few seats down the table. "Now he has to teach our prince how to waste time, too?"
Janus opened his mouth angrily, but Gen winked and put a finger to his lips, slipping out of his seat.
Oblivious to the impending peril, Calais smoothed down a crease in his new shirt. It was an expensive shirt, a gift from his father, soft green cloth with particularly fine embroidery, and he was extremely proud of it. Helen had heard him mentioning it loudly several times all through dinner.
As Helen watched, Gen crept up behind him and splashed his shoulder with wine, then darted around to behind his other shoulder before he could turn. Calais's eyes landed on Pello, who had been passing with a fresh amphora. Calais stood up angrily. "Why, you--" Seizing his own goblet, he threw its contents into Pello's face.
"What was that for?" Pello snapped, and emptied the entire amphora over Calais's head.
Gen slipped back to his seat, a broad grin on his face, as the fight escalated to olive oil and soft cheese. A bowl of lamb stew spattered over a few more cousins and they joined in.
"You shouldn't have done that, Gen," Helen said, struggling to keep a straight face.
Gen happily tossed a platter of mashed potatoes into the melee. "My pleasure."
*
A sort of horrified silence seemed to have fallen over the palace. Even the birds seemed quieter, their songs muted and flat. Everyone moved with such care, speaking in hushed voices, that if Helen closed her eyes she could almost for a moment believe she'd gone deaf.
"Helen?"
Gen, at least, had always moved quietly.
"I heard." She felt wiry arms creep over her shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug. Her shoulder was pressed up against his ribcage, but he didn't seem to mind. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." Her head lolled, coming to rest on his shoulder.
"He might live," Gen offered softly.
"He's so small. If Pylaster and Lias couldn't fight it, Janus won't stand a chance."
A hand pressed on the top of her head. "He might," Gen said firmly.
"He might," Helen whispered.
*
The coronation was long past, and the crown sat heavy and bulky on Helen's head, her neck stiff from the effort of holding it upright. She had sworn her oaths of protection and responsibility -- and those weighed heavier on her than any headwear -- and then placed the crown on her head herself, which she was probably going to pay for later in the uproar it would cause. Traditionally, the Queen of Eddis was crowned by her husband, or a trusted, high-ranking male courtier. But Helen wasn't Eddia, she was Eddis.
("If they don't like it, they can take it up with the gods," Gen had said last night. "If anyone's going to be Eddis it's you, Helen. I'll even call you My King."
"I'm still a girl," Helen had protested in return.)
The crown was bigger than she'd expected, all red velvet and gold filigree with twisting black patterns woven through in silk. Somehow, after all those years seeing it atop her father's thick neck and broad shoulders, she'd always thought it smaller. Taking it into her hands, she had hoped it wouldn't be too big and fall over her eyes in front of the whole court. It was heavy. She'd wondered if she was allowed to have it altered to make it lighter.
But the coronation itself was hours ago, and now came the long, arduous task of sitting through sacred oaths of fealty from one member of the court after another. Minister after minister, baron after baron -- she often found her attention wandering, and had to inwardly yank herself back to the present.
A bead of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck and settled in a vicious itch between her shoulder blades. Silently cursing this godsdamn crown, she straightened her spine and very determinedly did not scratch.
Movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. She shifted her gaze to just over the shoulder of the minister of agriculture and surreptitiously scanned the crowd.
It was Gen, of course. For the moment he was standing with the cousins, a full head shorter than most of them but the very model of a perfect child: face clean, expression mildly interested, hands clasped politely behind his back. He wasn't even fidgeting, which was more than could be said for most of the other boys. Out of the corner of her eye, Helen saw the minister of war turn his head away, and Gen immediately proceeded to ruin that image by dancing silently in place and pulling faces at her. Helen pressed her lips together, struggling to keep a straight face as the minister of agriculture kissed her hand and moved to one side, and Gen began to mimic his odd gait, bobbing his head up and down like a chicken. The minister of war turned his head again and Gen froze mid-bob. Helen could practically feel the icy coldness of the death glares the minister was sending to his son from across the room. It was a wonder the whole court didn't start shivering. Gen grinned sheepishly as he returned to his place in line, and for the rest of the ceremony limited himself to only occasionally sticking out his tongue when he was sure his father wasn't looking.
Helen was so busy during the feast that she hardly had time to eat, and by the time the dancing started her stomach was rumbling angrily. She wasn't at all surprised to see Gen weaving his way through the crowd towards the throne. The children had already been herded off to bed, but she doubted there was a single person in the castle that could keep Gen from going where he wanted to go, except perhaps his mother.
He stopped in front of the throne with a sweeping, mocking bow. "My Queen," he said teasingly. "May I have permission to approach Her Royal Royalness?"
Helen stifled a giggle. "You may," she replied, putting on her most queenly voice. Gen nearly pranced up the few steps and produced a chicken leg out of his sleeve.
"For the rumbly Royal tummy," he said solemnly.
"Why thank you, good Eugenides," she said regally, hiding the morsel in one of the many heavy folds of her skirt. "I see your father hasn't strangled you yet," she added pointedly, seeing the familiar silvery head bobbing through the crowd towards them.
Gen winked. "He'll have to catch me first. Good night, My Queen." With another exaggerated bow, he backed away and scampered off into the crowd.
*
Helen didn't need a nudge from the gods to know where to find him, but it did make her hurry. He was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling off into empty air.
"She was just dancing," he said without turning around, as her footsteps slowed behind him. "That's all."
Mountain winters were bitter cold, and this one was no exception. Helen had a heavy cloak to protect her from the biting wind and the fine mist that had hung over the palace since dawn, but he was in his shirtsleeves. "Come inside, Gen." He didn't, but then she hadn't expected him to. With a sigh, she slid down to sit on the ledge beside him, wrapping her cloak around the both of them.
"What kind of god," he muttered, sinking against her side, "would betray his followers like this?"
"I didn't know you believed in the gods," she said, taken aback. He turned to look at her, and for all the weight that had appeared in his eyes overnight she had to remind herself that he was still only ten years old.
"I didn't," he said sullenly. "I still don't. But--"
"You need someone to blame."
"No! Yes. But Grandfather always said he'll keep us safe. And he hasn't!"
"Gen, do you remember the legend of the first Thief of Eddis?"
"Of course!" Gen scowled. "The god always catches us when we fall."
"Well do you think maybe," Helen murmured, "he sometimes forgets to put you back down?"
Gen paused, considering, then let out a breath and tipped his head to rest it against her shoulder. "It's not fair," he muttered. She didn't reply.
After a long while, Helen stirred. "Look at your fingers," she scolded lightly, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "They're blue! What good to me is a Thief with frostbite? Come inside, Eugenides." She stood, taking the cloak with her, but held it out to one side to leave room for him.
"Yes, My Queen," he said, with the faintest of smiles. He tucked himself into her side and they walked back into the warm palace together.
*
With a wave and a pleasant smile, Helen dismissed her attendants. As the door closed behind them, she turned towards the wardrobe.
"Eugenides," she said, mildly amused, "why are you in my wardrobe?"
The door swung open and Gen hopped out from between an embroidered riding shirt and a particularly hideous evening gown with, as of apparently just now, distinctly fewer sequins than it was meant to have.
"I'm not in your wardrobe," he said, bouncing up and down and shedding sequins on the carpet. "See?"
"Yes, I do see," she said dryly.
"So, so, so. You wanted to talk to me?"
"I only mentioned that to Dianthe ten minutes ago," Helen observed.
"I'm a very fast walker."
"I'm sure you are. Do you have any notion of where Ornon's sheep might be?"
"Ornon's sheep?" Gen's face was the very picture of innocence. "I would assume they're in their pasture."
"Then you would assume wrong. They seem to have vanished into thin air."
"Perhaps he left the gate unlocked."
"It was locked when the loss was discovered."
Gen shrugged. "Someone must have stolen them, then."
Helen raised both eyebrows. Gen held up his hands, palms out. "I was with Grandfather all day. You can ask him."
"I'll be sure to do that."
"Can I go?"
Helen waved a hand in assent. With a quick, teasing bow, Gen hopped backwards into the wardrobe and closed the door behind him.
*
They caught him as he left the temple, three pairs of earrings and a brooch newly dedicated on the altar of Eugenides behind him. Tenris and Timos each gripped one of his arms, and his struggles had no effect as they dragged him off behind a nearby building, where a line of rain barrels stood full after the morning's storm. Gen caught a glimpse of the reflection of a brilliant orange sunset before a thick-fingered hand gripped the back of his head and forced his head under the surface.
Water gushing into his nose and mouth, he shook his head desperately, but the hand holding him down was strong and his kicks found only thick leather boots and the wood of the water barrel. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, someone seized his hair and yanked him out. The evening air was biting against wet skin as he doubled over, coughing and sputtering.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and shook him roughly. "Did you steal my sister's earrings?" Crodes demanded. "Did you?"
"N - no," Gen choked. Crodes forced his head under again, and this time Gen didn't struggle, saving air.
"Did you?" Crodes repeated.
"No," Gen said once his breath had returned. Furious, he continued, "I stole a pair of earrings from your ugly sister, but they belong to the gods now."
Shaking with rage, Crodes aimed a kick at his ribs. "My ugly sister? What about your sisters? Damon only agreed to marry Hespera because he felt sorry for her, you know, and she's the best of the lot."
"Shut up," Gen growled. "Shut up."
"Not to mention your brother the clockmaker. What sort of man spends all day fiddling with little bits of metal? Are we even sure he's a man?"
Gen was silent now, squirming in wordless rage as he tried to break free. His cousins' grips on his arms had tightened so that he was starting to get pins and needles in his hands.
Crodes had tasted blood, and now he moved in for the kill. "I blame your mother," he said with a sneer. "Thief's blood should never have been allowed to mingle with royal blood. It's obviously a bad mix."
With a strangled yell, Gen lunged at him, but was brought up short by Timos and Tenris, who still held strong grips on his arms. Struggling, he was forced towards the water barrel again, Crodes using his full forearm to lever his head under the surface. After a long minute he was pulled out again, gasping, as Crodes shook him roughly. "Say it," he growled. "Your mother wasn't fit for this family. Say it." Instead, Gen twisted his head around and sunk his teeth deep into Crodes' wrist.
"Ow!" Crodes cried shrilly, pulling away. "He bit me, the dog. Put him under." Tenris held Gen's head down for longer this time, and when they pulled him up Crodes seemed to have recovered from the shock, though he held his wrist cradled close to his body. Through a watery blur, Gen was sure he saw bright spots of blood.
"Say it, you mutt," Crodes yelled. "We won't let you go until you say it!"
Gen bared his teeth and said nothing.
They held him under four times more. Finally, breathlessly, feeling like the worst kind of traitor, he whispered, "My mother wasn't fit for this family."
Crodes leaned in close, though Gen noticed he stayed out of biting range. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
"My mother," Gen repeated, voice wavering, "wasn't fit for this family."
"Which family was that, again?"
"The royal family."
"Good dog." Crodes nodded at Timos and Tenris over his head, and the pair threw him down on the cobblestones. After each had gotten in a few good kicks, they grew bored and left.
Gen had holed himself up in the side chamber of the library, wringing the water from his hair, when there was a soft knock on the door.
"Go away," he rasped, but the door creaked open anyway.
"I knew you'd be sulking in here," Helen said, shutting it softly behind her.
"I'm not sulking," Gen muttered. "I'm hiding."
She paused for a moment, studying him. "How bad was it?"
"Bad." He crossed his arms tightly and tried not to wince as his bruises protested. "I called Crodes' sister ugly."
"Oh, Gen--"
"They tried to drown me!"
Helen looked as though she was trying to mask her sympathy with disapproval. "Before or after?"
Gen looked faintly guilty. "Both." He shifted his gaze to the window. "They made me say things. About my mother."
"Ahh." Helen let out a soft sigh of understanding. Laying her hand on Gen's damp head, she murmured, "You know just because someone makes you say something doesn't make it true."
"I know that!" Gen snapped, shaking her off, and grimaced as the movement agitated his ribs. "I just . . . Do I have to live in the boys' house? I don't like it there."
Helen raised both eyebrows. "Where are you going to live, then?"
"Here." Gen waved a hand at the side chamber. "In the library. No one uses this room anyway; I can move in here."
"It looks like you already have," Helen said, looking pointedly at the woven mat that had been pushed into an empty corner. A blanket and pillow were piled on top, and it looked well slept on.
Gen shrugged, completely failing to look ashamed. "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission."
Helen chuckled. "Well I obviously can't stop you. I'll see if I can find a empty bed to move in."
"I can find a empty bed," Gen said seriously.
"By empty I mean no one sleeps on it on a regular basis," Helen laughed. "You are not to take one of your cousins' beds, Gen."
Gen rolled his eyes. "Yes, My Queen."
"I'm glad we're understood." She squeezed his hand and turned to leave. "Oh, and see Galen. I don't like the look of those bruises."
"You haven't even seen my bruises," Gen protested.
"Eugenides."
He sighed. "Yes, My Queen."
[PART TWO] -->
Author(s): rattyjol
Artist(s): enochia
Fandom(s): Queen's Thief
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~6500
Characters/Pairings(if any): Gen, Helen, various Eddisians
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Summary: Conversations between a Queen and her Thief, before they were that. Lessons learned and friendship shared from childhood to adulthood. Pre-series.
Written for the bromancestory Big Bang.
Fanmix by enochia over here: [LINK]
ETA: And some art of my own over here: [LINK]
Gen scrambled up the tree trunk, bark rough under his palms as he leapt easily from branch to branch.
"Come down, Eugenides," one of the cousins yelled up at him. "You can't stay up there forever."
Standing on one of the whippy top branches that narrowly held even his slight weight, Gen scowled down at the boys in the courtyard. From this height they looked like ants, except angry. "Come up and get me!" he yelled back, in what he imagined was a confident, defiant tone.
A few of the boys did try to follow him, but were struck suddenly by vertigo and quickly came back down. Phaedrus made it an impressive halfway up the tree before giving in.
"Come on, Gen," he called, trying to hide his relief at returning to solid ground. "Just tell us where you put the necklace."
Clinging stubbornly to his branch, Gen stuck out his tongue and blew them a raspberry.
They shouted at him for a few more minutes, but soon got bored and wandered away, grumbling.
Helen stepped out from behind a pillar. "You've got to stop doing this, Gen." An onyx pendant dangled from her hand, suspended on a leather thong. "Sooner or later they're going to catch you."
"Will not," Gen declared, shinnying down the trunk. He leapt down from the lowest branch to land nimbly beside her.
She snorted. "Show off." Handing him the necklace, she added, "Next time you want to hide something in a planter, bury it properly. Is that the necklace Timos won in the sparring contest last week?"
"No," Gen said, the very picture of innocence. He darted behind her to tie the leather cord around her neck with quick fingers, careful of the bandages taped across her nose. "It's the necklace you won in the sparring contest last week."
"Gen, Temenus beat me, and then Timos beat Temenus. You were there."
"Temenus cheated," Gen insisted. "I saw him. He just didn't want to be beaten by a girl. You would've won."
Helen grinned and tucked the pendant inside her blouse. "Well I'm glad you think so highly of me."
"Of course I could have beaten you," Gen added loftily. "If I'd wanted to."
"Of course." Helen nodded seriously.
"I'm hungry," Gen announced, grabbing her hand. "Let's go get something from the kitchens."
*
Helen had known this day was coming since she was a little girl, but it was still a shock when she returned to her chambers to find her mother and Xanthe sifting through her wardrobe, carefully sorting the garments into two piles.
"Mother?" she asked, confusion coloring her voice. "What's going on?"
Xanthe held up a threadbare riding shirt. The queen pointed at the larger of the two piles and Xanthe set it down carefully.
"Helen, dear, there you are," her mother said with a regal smile. "Xanthe and I were just deciding which of your clothing is appropriate."
"Appropriate?" Helen seized a tunic from the larger pile. It was old and soft, comfortably worn in all the right places. "You've never had a problem with me wearing these before."
The queen directed a forest green gown to the smaller pile. "You were a child before, dear. I think it's about time you grew up, don't you?
"Mother!" Helen began hotly, before realizing that she had no argument that wouldn't sound childish. She could be a woman and still ride, couldn't she?
"And smile, dear. Don't look so angry all the time. You're a princess; do try to act like it."
Helen tucked the tunic under her arm and spun on her heel, marching angrily out into the hall and down the corridor. So what if she didn't smile vapidly all the time and giggle at inanities? So what if she liked riding, instead of considering horses smelly beasts whose only use was pulling carriages? So what if she didn't act like a princess? It wasn't like she was ever going to be queen.
She found herself at the stables before she even made a conscious choice to go there, and headed straight for Nestor's stall. But when she arrived, her pony had gone.
"She didn't," Helen hissed to empty air, nails digging into the wood of the stall door. Surely her mother wouldn't have taken away Nestor? But as she stood there, she noticed a curious set of shapes traced into the clean hay on the stable floor. On closer inspection, Helen realized it was her own name, written in archaic. She smiled.
He was waiting out behind the stables, face upturned to the sun. Nestor grazed happily a few yards away.
"Gen, did you steal my pony?"
"I would never!" The boy's eyes widened innocently. "He looked hungry, so I brought him out to graze. But while he's out, would you like to go for a ride, m'lady?" He bowed mockingly.
"I would love to," Helen said, equally grave. Soon seated comfortably in the saddle, she raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you missing something, though?"
"Missing something?" Gen trotted in place, mimicking a horse's gait. "I think not."
She stifled a laugh behind her hand. "Onwards, then."
Gen galloped towards the trail. "Onwards!"
*
"Look at this, Helen!" Janus pushed his dinner plate to one side with a clatter and set an oilskin bag carefully in its place. When he pulled on the string, it fell open, revealing a pile of screws and other small metal parts. Some had been pieced together with a careful hand; others showed the five-year old's impatient excitement. He grinned proudly up at his sister. "Sten gave them to me."
Helen smiled. "Is he teaching you how to make clocks?"
Janus nodded vigorously. "I'm going to make the best clocks in all of Eddis!"
"I'm sure you will," Helen said indulgently. Janus had a new career aspiration every few days. Last week he had been determined to learn smithing, even though the top of the anvil came up to his shoulder.
Gen piped up from across the table. "Sten isn't supposed to take parts out of the clockmaker's shop, you know." He looked extraordinarily proud.
Janus's eyes widened. "Should I give them back?"
"Of course not!"
"Gen," Helen chuckled. "Don't teach my brother bad habits."
Gen looked at her innocently. "What bad habits?"
"It's not enough that Stenides has to spend his days tinkering," Calais could be heard commenting a few seats down the table. "Now he has to teach our prince how to waste time, too?"
Janus opened his mouth angrily, but Gen winked and put a finger to his lips, slipping out of his seat.
Oblivious to the impending peril, Calais smoothed down a crease in his new shirt. It was an expensive shirt, a gift from his father, soft green cloth with particularly fine embroidery, and he was extremely proud of it. Helen had heard him mentioning it loudly several times all through dinner.
As Helen watched, Gen crept up behind him and splashed his shoulder with wine, then darted around to behind his other shoulder before he could turn. Calais's eyes landed on Pello, who had been passing with a fresh amphora. Calais stood up angrily. "Why, you--" Seizing his own goblet, he threw its contents into Pello's face.
"What was that for?" Pello snapped, and emptied the entire amphora over Calais's head.
Gen slipped back to his seat, a broad grin on his face, as the fight escalated to olive oil and soft cheese. A bowl of lamb stew spattered over a few more cousins and they joined in.
"You shouldn't have done that, Gen," Helen said, struggling to keep a straight face.
Gen happily tossed a platter of mashed potatoes into the melee. "My pleasure."
*
A sort of horrified silence seemed to have fallen over the palace. Even the birds seemed quieter, their songs muted and flat. Everyone moved with such care, speaking in hushed voices, that if Helen closed her eyes she could almost for a moment believe she'd gone deaf.
"Helen?"
Gen, at least, had always moved quietly.
"I heard." She felt wiry arms creep over her shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug. Her shoulder was pressed up against his ribcage, but he didn't seem to mind. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." Her head lolled, coming to rest on his shoulder.
"He might live," Gen offered softly.
"He's so small. If Pylaster and Lias couldn't fight it, Janus won't stand a chance."
A hand pressed on the top of her head. "He might," Gen said firmly.
"He might," Helen whispered.
*
The coronation was long past, and the crown sat heavy and bulky on Helen's head, her neck stiff from the effort of holding it upright. She had sworn her oaths of protection and responsibility -- and those weighed heavier on her than any headwear -- and then placed the crown on her head herself, which she was probably going to pay for later in the uproar it would cause. Traditionally, the Queen of Eddis was crowned by her husband, or a trusted, high-ranking male courtier. But Helen wasn't Eddia, she was Eddis.
("If they don't like it, they can take it up with the gods," Gen had said last night. "If anyone's going to be Eddis it's you, Helen. I'll even call you My King."
"I'm still a girl," Helen had protested in return.)
The crown was bigger than she'd expected, all red velvet and gold filigree with twisting black patterns woven through in silk. Somehow, after all those years seeing it atop her father's thick neck and broad shoulders, she'd always thought it smaller. Taking it into her hands, she had hoped it wouldn't be too big and fall over her eyes in front of the whole court. It was heavy. She'd wondered if she was allowed to have it altered to make it lighter.
But the coronation itself was hours ago, and now came the long, arduous task of sitting through sacred oaths of fealty from one member of the court after another. Minister after minister, baron after baron -- she often found her attention wandering, and had to inwardly yank herself back to the present.
A bead of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck and settled in a vicious itch between her shoulder blades. Silently cursing this godsdamn crown, she straightened her spine and very determinedly did not scratch.
Movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. She shifted her gaze to just over the shoulder of the minister of agriculture and surreptitiously scanned the crowd.
It was Gen, of course. For the moment he was standing with the cousins, a full head shorter than most of them but the very model of a perfect child: face clean, expression mildly interested, hands clasped politely behind his back. He wasn't even fidgeting, which was more than could be said for most of the other boys. Out of the corner of her eye, Helen saw the minister of war turn his head away, and Gen immediately proceeded to ruin that image by dancing silently in place and pulling faces at her. Helen pressed her lips together, struggling to keep a straight face as the minister of agriculture kissed her hand and moved to one side, and Gen began to mimic his odd gait, bobbing his head up and down like a chicken. The minister of war turned his head again and Gen froze mid-bob. Helen could practically feel the icy coldness of the death glares the minister was sending to his son from across the room. It was a wonder the whole court didn't start shivering. Gen grinned sheepishly as he returned to his place in line, and for the rest of the ceremony limited himself to only occasionally sticking out his tongue when he was sure his father wasn't looking.
Helen was so busy during the feast that she hardly had time to eat, and by the time the dancing started her stomach was rumbling angrily. She wasn't at all surprised to see Gen weaving his way through the crowd towards the throne. The children had already been herded off to bed, but she doubted there was a single person in the castle that could keep Gen from going where he wanted to go, except perhaps his mother.
He stopped in front of the throne with a sweeping, mocking bow. "My Queen," he said teasingly. "May I have permission to approach Her Royal Royalness?"
Helen stifled a giggle. "You may," she replied, putting on her most queenly voice. Gen nearly pranced up the few steps and produced a chicken leg out of his sleeve.
"For the rumbly Royal tummy," he said solemnly.
"Why thank you, good Eugenides," she said regally, hiding the morsel in one of the many heavy folds of her skirt. "I see your father hasn't strangled you yet," she added pointedly, seeing the familiar silvery head bobbing through the crowd towards them.
Gen winked. "He'll have to catch me first. Good night, My Queen." With another exaggerated bow, he backed away and scampered off into the crowd.
*
Helen didn't need a nudge from the gods to know where to find him, but it did make her hurry. He was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling off into empty air.
"She was just dancing," he said without turning around, as her footsteps slowed behind him. "That's all."
Mountain winters were bitter cold, and this one was no exception. Helen had a heavy cloak to protect her from the biting wind and the fine mist that had hung over the palace since dawn, but he was in his shirtsleeves. "Come inside, Gen." He didn't, but then she hadn't expected him to. With a sigh, she slid down to sit on the ledge beside him, wrapping her cloak around the both of them.
"What kind of god," he muttered, sinking against her side, "would betray his followers like this?"
"I didn't know you believed in the gods," she said, taken aback. He turned to look at her, and for all the weight that had appeared in his eyes overnight she had to remind herself that he was still only ten years old.
"I didn't," he said sullenly. "I still don't. But--"
"You need someone to blame."
"No! Yes. But Grandfather always said he'll keep us safe. And he hasn't!"
"Gen, do you remember the legend of the first Thief of Eddis?"
"Of course!" Gen scowled. "The god always catches us when we fall."
"Well do you think maybe," Helen murmured, "he sometimes forgets to put you back down?"
Gen paused, considering, then let out a breath and tipped his head to rest it against her shoulder. "It's not fair," he muttered. She didn't reply.
After a long while, Helen stirred. "Look at your fingers," she scolded lightly, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "They're blue! What good to me is a Thief with frostbite? Come inside, Eugenides." She stood, taking the cloak with her, but held it out to one side to leave room for him.
"Yes, My Queen," he said, with the faintest of smiles. He tucked himself into her side and they walked back into the warm palace together.
*
With a wave and a pleasant smile, Helen dismissed her attendants. As the door closed behind them, she turned towards the wardrobe.
"Eugenides," she said, mildly amused, "why are you in my wardrobe?"
The door swung open and Gen hopped out from between an embroidered riding shirt and a particularly hideous evening gown with, as of apparently just now, distinctly fewer sequins than it was meant to have.
"I'm not in your wardrobe," he said, bouncing up and down and shedding sequins on the carpet. "See?"
"Yes, I do see," she said dryly.
"So, so, so. You wanted to talk to me?"
"I only mentioned that to Dianthe ten minutes ago," Helen observed.
"I'm a very fast walker."
"I'm sure you are. Do you have any notion of where Ornon's sheep might be?"
"Ornon's sheep?" Gen's face was the very picture of innocence. "I would assume they're in their pasture."
"Then you would assume wrong. They seem to have vanished into thin air."
"Perhaps he left the gate unlocked."
"It was locked when the loss was discovered."
Gen shrugged. "Someone must have stolen them, then."
Helen raised both eyebrows. Gen held up his hands, palms out. "I was with Grandfather all day. You can ask him."
"I'll be sure to do that."
"Can I go?"
Helen waved a hand in assent. With a quick, teasing bow, Gen hopped backwards into the wardrobe and closed the door behind him.
*
They caught him as he left the temple, three pairs of earrings and a brooch newly dedicated on the altar of Eugenides behind him. Tenris and Timos each gripped one of his arms, and his struggles had no effect as they dragged him off behind a nearby building, where a line of rain barrels stood full after the morning's storm. Gen caught a glimpse of the reflection of a brilliant orange sunset before a thick-fingered hand gripped the back of his head and forced his head under the surface.
Water gushing into his nose and mouth, he shook his head desperately, but the hand holding him down was strong and his kicks found only thick leather boots and the wood of the water barrel. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, someone seized his hair and yanked him out. The evening air was biting against wet skin as he doubled over, coughing and sputtering.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and shook him roughly. "Did you steal my sister's earrings?" Crodes demanded. "Did you?"
"N - no," Gen choked. Crodes forced his head under again, and this time Gen didn't struggle, saving air.
"Did you?" Crodes repeated.
"No," Gen said once his breath had returned. Furious, he continued, "I stole a pair of earrings from your ugly sister, but they belong to the gods now."
Shaking with rage, Crodes aimed a kick at his ribs. "My ugly sister? What about your sisters? Damon only agreed to marry Hespera because he felt sorry for her, you know, and she's the best of the lot."
"Shut up," Gen growled. "Shut up."
"Not to mention your brother the clockmaker. What sort of man spends all day fiddling with little bits of metal? Are we even sure he's a man?"
Gen was silent now, squirming in wordless rage as he tried to break free. His cousins' grips on his arms had tightened so that he was starting to get pins and needles in his hands.
Crodes had tasted blood, and now he moved in for the kill. "I blame your mother," he said with a sneer. "Thief's blood should never have been allowed to mingle with royal blood. It's obviously a bad mix."
With a strangled yell, Gen lunged at him, but was brought up short by Timos and Tenris, who still held strong grips on his arms. Struggling, he was forced towards the water barrel again, Crodes using his full forearm to lever his head under the surface. After a long minute he was pulled out again, gasping, as Crodes shook him roughly. "Say it," he growled. "Your mother wasn't fit for this family. Say it." Instead, Gen twisted his head around and sunk his teeth deep into Crodes' wrist.
"Ow!" Crodes cried shrilly, pulling away. "He bit me, the dog. Put him under." Tenris held Gen's head down for longer this time, and when they pulled him up Crodes seemed to have recovered from the shock, though he held his wrist cradled close to his body. Through a watery blur, Gen was sure he saw bright spots of blood.
"Say it, you mutt," Crodes yelled. "We won't let you go until you say it!"
Gen bared his teeth and said nothing.
They held him under four times more. Finally, breathlessly, feeling like the worst kind of traitor, he whispered, "My mother wasn't fit for this family."
Crodes leaned in close, though Gen noticed he stayed out of biting range. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
"My mother," Gen repeated, voice wavering, "wasn't fit for this family."
"Which family was that, again?"
"The royal family."
"Good dog." Crodes nodded at Timos and Tenris over his head, and the pair threw him down on the cobblestones. After each had gotten in a few good kicks, they grew bored and left.
Gen had holed himself up in the side chamber of the library, wringing the water from his hair, when there was a soft knock on the door.
"Go away," he rasped, but the door creaked open anyway.
"I knew you'd be sulking in here," Helen said, shutting it softly behind her.
"I'm not sulking," Gen muttered. "I'm hiding."
She paused for a moment, studying him. "How bad was it?"
"Bad." He crossed his arms tightly and tried not to wince as his bruises protested. "I called Crodes' sister ugly."
"Oh, Gen--"
"They tried to drown me!"
Helen looked as though she was trying to mask her sympathy with disapproval. "Before or after?"
Gen looked faintly guilty. "Both." He shifted his gaze to the window. "They made me say things. About my mother."
"Ahh." Helen let out a soft sigh of understanding. Laying her hand on Gen's damp head, she murmured, "You know just because someone makes you say something doesn't make it true."
"I know that!" Gen snapped, shaking her off, and grimaced as the movement agitated his ribs. "I just . . . Do I have to live in the boys' house? I don't like it there."
Helen raised both eyebrows. "Where are you going to live, then?"
"Here." Gen waved a hand at the side chamber. "In the library. No one uses this room anyway; I can move in here."
"It looks like you already have," Helen said, looking pointedly at the woven mat that had been pushed into an empty corner. A blanket and pillow were piled on top, and it looked well slept on.
Gen shrugged, completely failing to look ashamed. "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission."
Helen chuckled. "Well I obviously can't stop you. I'll see if I can find a empty bed to move in."
"I can find a empty bed," Gen said seriously.
"By empty I mean no one sleeps on it on a regular basis," Helen laughed. "You are not to take one of your cousins' beds, Gen."
Gen rolled his eyes. "Yes, My Queen."
"I'm glad we're understood." She squeezed his hand and turned to leave. "Oh, and see Galen. I don't like the look of those bruises."
"You haven't even seen my bruises," Gen protested.
"Eugenides."
He sighed. "Yes, My Queen."
[PART TWO] -->