The interaction with the Liosian soldiers bothers me all afternoon as Nemeth carefully catalogs each bag full of dried goods. There’s an entire trunk of dried animal pancreases for my medicine, along with bushels of herbs and more vials and needles. There are a few new dresses. There are candles, and soaps, and another book full of recipes and practical advice that I clutch to my chest, just because it means that Riza hasn’t forgotten me. There’s even a heavy trunk at the bottom filled with thick, dark-looking bricks of dirt that Nemeth calls “peat.”

“Do you ever burn this in your castle?”

“No, never.” I wrinkle my nose. “It looks gross.”

“It can have a strong smell,” he agrees. “That is most likely why. At least they sent fuel this time.” Nemeth seems pleased with my supplies, weighing a bag of dried meat with his hand as if he can tell how much is in it, then making notes on his parchment.

In a chest full of herbs, there is a book—my sister’s favorite epic poem—and tucked into it are several envelopes.

I gasp in delight at the sight of them, clutching them to my chest. “Letters!”

Nemeth smiles at my pleasure, pausing in his inventory to sit back on his haunches. “Who are they from? Your young lover?”

Holding the first one close to the light, I eye the handwriting. “Balon is not much of a wordsmith,” I admit. “This one is from my maid, Riza.” Hot tears well up in my eyes. By all the gods, I really do seem to cry a lot lately, but I’ll allow myself a moment of softness for this. “And one from Nurse.” I flip to the third letter. “And my sister, Erynne.”

“No love notes, then?”

I’m so happy I don’t even care that Balon didn’t write. “Jealous?” I tease, hugging the letters against my breasts.

“Anything that can make you smile so broadly? Aye, a bit jealous.”

My happiness bubbles over, just a tiny bit more, at his admission. “Balon probably found someone new to flirt with. He was only interested in the Vestalin name, anyhow.” The moment I say it, I think of my enchanted knife, and my happiness sours a little. It had told me that Balon wasn’t coming back, ever. That when I asked if he was well, it was silent. Maybe he’s sick and I feel guilty. “He’s a sweet boy.”

Nemeth grunts and gestures at the letters. “Are you going to save them or read them now?”

I chuckle at that. “Now, of course. Why would I save them?”

“In case you want to savor them.”

I drop my hands and give him an exasperated stare. “You and your savoring.”

“You don’t agree?” The look he gives me is pure innocence. “Savoring can make the pleasant moments last longer.”

Dragon shite. “Or I can read it now, and if I need more pleasant moments, I can read it again. And again. Which I will probably do.”

Nemeth gives me a lazy grin. “Then read, o greedy princess.”

“Thank you, I shall.” I flick my finger under the wax seal of my sister’s letter and unfold it, holding it close to the light. While I’m excited to read all three of my precious letters, I’m most eager to hear my sister’s words. The moment I see her handwriting, that confident, swooping script that’s so very familiar to me, a knot forms in my throat. I’m quiet for a moment, then clear my throat. “Dearest Candromeda,” I begin, and then pause. Should I read this out loud if it has to do with the war? Will there be state secrets I need to keep from Nemeth? When he nudges my knee, I give him a quick smile. “She has such messy handwriting, some of it’s hard to decipher.”

“I’m good with script,” Nemeth says, holding his hand out. “May I?”

I shake my head, resisting the urge to clutch the letter to my chest. “I’ve got it.”

He relaxes, unaware of my thoughts, and smiles up at me.

That smile makes me ache. I feel like I’m doing something wrong as I hesitantly read out my sister’s letter. “Dearest Candromeda,” I start again. “It has been a year now since you have left my side and went to do your duty in the tower. It feels like it has been forever, and yet we still have six more years to go. The thought of not being able to see you again for that long is unbearable. I cannot imagine what it must be like in the tower. I hope you are cozy and well, and…” I falter over my sister’s next words.

I hope you took my advice and dispatched your enemy swiftly. There will be no judgment on my side. We must do what we must do.

“It looks like she spilled ink right here,” I say, my giggle high-pitched. “Here we go.” I continue on blithely, skipping forward. “I trust that the supplies have held you through this first difficult year. Know that I am thinking of you daily. But enough about me, worrying over you. I am sure you want to hear news of the outside from me instead of my muttering over how much I miss my dear sister. Nurse Iphigenia is wonderful with the baby, but she compares you to him daily. She misses you dreadfully and tells me constantly that she will be too old to tend to you when you get out, that her hands will be withered with age. Riza and I both roll our eyes. If anyone is full of determination to work all their days, it is your nurse. Even now she’s fussing at me and insisting I drink a hot posset because it will help the baby. Alas, I am pregnant again.”

I pause, glancing up at Nemeth.

He doesn’t seem overly interested, his gaze more focused on me. “Are you surprised? She is young enough.”

I shrug. Part of me aches that I haven’t seen her first child and now a second one is coming. We are missing out upon so much.

I continue reading. “Alas, yes, it is Lionel’s. I am not bold enough to take someone else to my bed, though the thought has occurred to me time after time. I suppose if I must sleep with Lionel, at least he is fecund. One week was all it took, though that was plenty for me.” I chuckle over my sister’s dry humor, glancing up at Nemeth from over the pages of the letter. “It is the court’s worst-kept secret that my sister is not overly fond of her husband. She will do her duty to the Vestalin line, though.”

“Not her duty to her husband?” Nemeth raises a heavy brow at me.

I make a face. “No. Theirs is a marriage of state.” I don’t mention Isabella, and I suspect my sister will not, either. She protects Isabella, because if anyone found out how my sister truly felt about her, Isabella would be in danger. “I don’t think anyone loves Lionel.”

“His men do.”

Nemeth isn’t wrong. “His men have poor taste,” I say cheerfully. “Shall I go on?”

He nods.

I continue. My sister goes on for pages about Allionel, how he’s a clever baby and so very smart and already has several teeth. That he unfortunately looks just like his father and Lionel is besotted with him. How Allionel was born with Lionel’s golden curls but they immediately fell out and now he has the dark hair of the Vestalin line. He’s healthy and well (no blood curse) and everyone adores him. He’s become somewhat of a talisman for Lios to get them through tough times.

Of course, my sister never says what those tough times are, and it frustrates me. Her letter goes on talking about court, about some political marriages that have been made, visitors from outlying territories (that I suspect are there due to the war) and the unusually cold winter we recently went through. Her tone seems to be cheerful, and she closes her many-pages-long letter with a personal note.

I took your friendship for granted when you were at my side, Candra. Now that you’re gone and out of reach for the next seven—six (here seven is crossed out)—years, I feel very alone. I didn’t realize how dear you were to me and I think of all the times I scolded you for rolling out of some fool’s bed. I would take back all those scoldings in a heartbeat just to be able to see your happy smile. Please take your medicine every day, and think of your sister, and know that she loves you and misses you dearly. Yours forever, Erynne Vestalin.