“I was fortunate,” Bade said. “More fortunate than the diary. A good number of the pages were rendered illegible, some in part, some in full. While I bathed, and tried to wash the odor of meat from my hair, Vade tried to clean and dry the pages. There was only so much that he could do, and in the morning, we went to Tiko to confess.”
“He forgave you,” Kudorin said.
“Eventually. He said later that he couldn’t wait to give the diary to his own son and explain what horrid boys Uncle Bade and Uncle Vade had been.”
Kudorin laughed. “It’ll be one of his favorite stories.”
In the back of his mind, like a quiet glimmer, it occurred to Bade that Kudorin was referring to Tiko’s firstborn son, and questions crowded his throat - - what would the child be like, what would his name be, what would he look like, what would happen to him, who would his mother be, how old would Tiko be when - - but that wasn’t for him, not now, not yet, so he tried to swallow his curiosity, tried to stifle and smother his burning, yearning need to know.
“You’ve come to tell me something else,” Kudorin said, rising and settling comfortably on the steps, resting back against the throne, meeting his eyes as if this were a normal conversation.
Yes. There was something else. Something else that was marginally easier to say now that he’d spoken of home, of Vade and Tiko and memories, old adventures. He wondered if Kudorin had intended this effect, and decided that of course the answer was yes, and was grateful for it. “I must go home.” No, no, he’d been wrong; this wasn’t easier at all. It would be easier if he could go home now with the assurance that he’d return here, but he had no such assurance. He’d never come here again, never see Kudorin again, never see Orinakin again, never see this palace, never walk these halls, never catch sight of orange skirts fluttering around a corner or hear Rini’s laughter echoing from a distant room or see doves fly overhead. He wouldn’t even visit, he knew that, because there would be no point to it, no real reason, nothing that would convince his father. And he couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear the idea of never being here again, never speaking with Orinakin again.
“Must?” Kudorin asked.
“I can’t stay here,” Bade said. Why was Kudorin doing this to him? He wanted Kudorin to understand, to agree, to let him leave this room with a modicum of dignity. “If I’m not courting you, I can’t stay here.”
“Your brothers would be disappointed,” Kudorin said, and Bade thought, yes, of course they would be, his brothers would be disappointed in him, his father and mother would be disappointed in him, all of Nosupolis - - until Kudorin practically knocked him off of his feet with, “to arrive here and find you gone.”
Bade stared at Kudorin, his mouth slowly opening. Had, was, “Here?”
Kudorin’s smile was pleased. “Princes Tiko and Vade are on their way here as we speak. Surely you don’t wish to depart for Nosupolis before they arrive.”
“Vade and Tiko are coming?” He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t accept it, couldn’t comprehend it, “Tiko and Vade are coming?!” Most powerful man in the world or not, Bade would have seized Kudorin in a hug, had he been physically capable of it. As it was, he was so overjoyed, he thought that he could overcome even that boundary. “They’re on their way?!”
“Then you’ll remain to greet them upon their arrival?” Kudorin asked with a knowing, amused smile.
“I was wrong,” Bade said, stunned. “I do love you.”
Kudorin’s laughter bounced off of the walls.
