“Be quiet,” Kurin hissed.
The thin stream of tea descending into Gamnae’s cup wavered. She’d overfilled the cup well past a mannerly two-thirds; she hastily set the pot aside, holding her sleeve just so. Perhaps Mother wouldn’t notice and let loose that awful, withering scorn. Do not guzzle like a greedy merchant’s daughter, Gamnae. Really, you are old enough for manners now. You should display some.
“Elder Brother?” she said, tentatively. Maybe she could halt the approaching storm, but it didn’t seem likely. Neither the First Queen nor her precious eldest son could be diverted once irritation truly set in. Gamnae’s pretty babu-patterned morning gown stuck to her lower back even through a thin linen modesty-shift. It was a hot morn, but those did not often make her sweat. “I do not understand.”
“Don’t pretend to be stupid, little sister.” Kurin held his own orange silk sleeve aside as he selected a slice of walanir from the savories plate. His morning robe was familiar, patterned only at hems and cuffs with Gamnae’s careful stitching, a Year’s End Festival present he was probably deigning to wear only because he wanted something of her. “Or I shall slap you.”
He meant it, and Mother would not stop him.
“Yes. Takshin saw me in the gardens.” Gamnae risked a glance at Mother, gauging the effect such news was likely to have in that quarter. “He asked me to visit the Jonwa.”
Two spots of bright crimson stood high upon the First Queen’s cheeks. Her hair was merely drawn back in a sleeping-braid instead of lacquered in place by her chief maid Yona’s dry fingers as it would be later in the day; a few stray strands touched her soft forehead. One plump, soft hand with resin-dipped nails was clutch-crumpling the stack of pressed-paper squares meant for couth touching of lips between courses; the filigree sheath over the nail on her smallest finger glinted.
Any mention of Gamnae’s other elder brother put Mother in a bad mood. Takshin had been sent to Shan and come back scarred, silent, and difficult. Sometimes, Gamnae wondered if it would have been better to send Kurin instead. At least in Shan the Second Prince wouldn’t be able to pinch or poke at her, though to be honest Kurin had largely ceased to torment her when he found other, more satisfying prey.
Now, though, he seemed eager to recommence. Everything was changing so quickly. It was hard to keep her balance when the world kept rocking like a small boat.
Gamnae hated boats. And at the moment, she almost hated Takshin for speaking to her in the gardens yesterday, too. Why couldn’t he have found a less public place, or sent her a note? A note might have gone almost unnoticed unless one of Mother’s big-eyed, scrawny maids thought news of it likely to win a prize from Yona.
But no, someone had seen her passing words with her second brother, Kurin had found out, and now whatever he wanted Gamnae didn’t know, but it couldn’t be pleasant.
At least that was the same as ever.
“Kurin.” The First Queen’s voice was deceptively mild, but Gamnae’s stomach dropped with an entirely unheard splash. She knew that tone. “This is a revolting display at breakfast. You will apologize at once.”
“The instant I do something meriting an apology to you, Mother, one will swiftly occur.” Kurin didn’t even glance at Mother, and that was a difference indeed. “So, Taktak wishes you to visit him at the Jonwa? Or does he think you’ll sing lullabies to our grieving Eldest Brother?” A smile stretched his thin lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and for the first time in a few weeks he looked truly pleased. “Come now, little sister, do not be shy. Who exactly did he ask you to visit?”
“No one.” Gamnae’s throat almost closed up, and she tried, frantically, to think of what barbed mischief Kurin might be planning— and how to ameliorate it. Stopping was beyond her power, but perhaps something small could be done. “Well, no one of consequence. He just said, since I’d visited the Crown Princess—”
“Do not mention that foreign bitch at my table.” It was not quite queenly to hiss, but Mother wasn’t bound by rules like other people. Were there ears listening greedily at the hall partition? The servants withdrew while the family was at private meals, but it was silly to think nobody was waiting, large-eared, to carry tales all through the Palace’s warren.
Gamnae, instead of glancing at Mother to gauge her mood more surely, watched Kurin. She’d seen this look upon him before, but never in front of their mother. No, Kurin did not let his eyes blaze or his mouth twist like this when anyone who mattered could see.
Her brother picked up a small, whisper-fragile blue sauce dish. Then, with a swift fluid motion that spoke of a prince’s necessary training in the art of combat, he flung it across the room. The sound of its breaking was lost under Queen Gamwone’s gasp.
“Shut up,” Kurin said, in a low fierce tone Gamnae also knew very well, but had never heard him use before Mother. “Or the sweetbroth goes next.”
“Kurin…” Gamnae all but gaped, her fingers still upon the teapot’s handle. Words tumbled breathlessly out of her, half placating, a crownbird’s fluttering to distract a predator from its true nest. “He just said my presence might be a comfort in a grieving household, that’s all. You know how he is.” She did not dare glance at her mother again, not at this point. If she could somehow escape, hide under the table perhaps, like she used to when she was much younger…but there was no retreat possible. She was a tiny creature caught between two mountains, neither caring what they crushed during a collision.
“You…” Mother had barely enough breath for the word. It was strange to see First Queen Garan Gamwone of Zhaon at such a loss. Why, she almost sounded as frightened as Gamnae, and that could not be possible.
Could it?
“Comfort in a grieving household.” Kurin turned his head slightly, eyeing Mother sidewise like a caged cat. His long fingers curled loosely around the base of the second, smaller sweetbroth tureen, the one with spicy walanir greens wilting upon hot liquid. “A pleasant way of putting it, indeed.” He smiled, baring a row of white teeth, one of his canines just slightly crooked. “Well, well. Little brother.”
“It’s really nothing.” Gamnae tried again to press the rai smooth, like a cook with a troublesome dish. “I won’t go, of course. There’s no reason—”
“That’s right.” Mother straightened, and the two rosettes upon her plump cheeks glared from unwonted paleness elsewhere. The humors drained from her face seemed to have collected upon her morning-robe, which was a bright, fetching pink. “Now, Gamnae, you are finished with breakfast.” Her left hand, lying upon the table, had turned into a round fist, dimples changed into white knuckles, and though she had let go of the stack of napkins, her other hand’s fingers had curled into a spider-shape. “Run along, your brother and I have things to discuss.”
It was a deliverance, and Gamnae gathered her skirts, preparing to rise. Once in the safety of her rooms she could call for a tray of something, if her stomach would unclench. A bright smear of pao sauce dripped from a hanging scroll; Kurin had flung the dish with a great deal of force to make it shatter so against heavy hangings.
“Gamnae,” Kurin said, very softly. “I did not give you leave to go.”