It's May, and Cecilia dangles her legs in the water, laughing and kicking at the waves as they sloshes against the walls of the pond. For a moment, a gust of wind tugs at her sun-hat, seeking to carry the flimsy creation of straw and flowers away with it, but Cecilia clamps a hand down on top of her head and continues to giggle and play.

"Be careful," he tells her, standing farther off in the shade of a tree. In his hands, he holds their toy sailboat, and he winds the elastic motor with his thumb while he watches her.

Cecilia looks over her shoulder and sticks out her tongue. "Am I ever anything but cautious, brother?"

He smiles and walks over to join her, crouched at the water's edge. "Yes," he replies, "frequently. Want to do the honours?" He gestures with the little boat.

She nods a yes, and he passes her the boat, gingerly so as not to break the slender mast and so her fingernails do not scratch the blue and gold painting on the hull.

"His Majesty's trade ship, Heroic, you are hereby and forthwith dispatched on a mission of the utmost importance," Cecilia tells the ship, holding it to her face so that she can look the tiny mermaid gripping the bow straight in the eye. "It falls upon you, brave sailors, to sail to foreign lands no Kyrrian has ever seen before!"

"...the other side of the pond, in fact."

Cecilia wrinkles her nose. "And make contact with foreign peoples, whether they be friends or foes!"
"...or ducks."

"Char!" Cecilia pouts up at him. "You said I could do it."

He laughs. "Sorry, sorry. Are we all set then?"

She sighs, only moderately pacified, and looks back at the sailboat. "It's a shame we couldn't borrow a bottle of wine to do a proper christening, but I suppose..."

"Let it go, 'cilia."

With another sigh, more dramatic than the last, she places the boat on the water and releases the motor. It rocks on the waves for a moment or two before the motor begins to turn. Then it races across the pond, kicking spray into Cecilia's face. She laughs, and then, so does he.

---

It's June, and the horses are worried. Why, he can't tell, but they strain against their tethers and kick dust into the night air, whinnying.

"Ogres nearby," Percival says, leaning into his sorrel to comfort it. "We'll be attacked before morning, I would guess."

In the darkness behind them, Char hears Stephen swear as the bay kicks at him. He turns back to the open woods and strains his senses, trying to feel what the horses feel.

"Should we move camp?"

Percival shrugs. "We could. Although, with the noise the horses are making, we'd probably be found out anyway."

"Besides which, we're supposed to be capturing the ogres, not running away from them." He smiles ruefully.

Percival shrugs again, more expansively and with a hint of condescension. "As you say."

That's not much in terms of guidance, and not for the first time, he wishes he were home in Frell instead of here. He'd rather be home in Frell than anywhere else.

"What do you think we should be doing?"

Unlike Bertram, Percival won't give advice just to hear himself speak. In fact, he looks uneasy now, even though he's been asked to advise. "This is...your command."

Char nods, frowning. "But maybe it shouldn't be. I need to learn, yes, but at the price of your lives?"

Percival gives the sorrel a final pat and turns to face him completely. "We have pledged our lives to you one way or another, Char. We'll follow you, and if we can make you a king in the process, so much the better." He leans forward solemnly. "But we will follow you."

Char sighs. In the east, the sky begins to lighten.

---

It's September when he sees Ayorthia spread out below him for the first time. It's dusk and as his party travels higher up the hill towards the little inn, the sun catches on the colonnades of the white cities. Nothing is as simple here as in Kyrria, not the court manners nor the smells nor the sunsets.

For a moment twice the breadth of a heart's beat, Char thinks of Ella and of what she would think, riding up a mountain here, at the end of the world. But then he pushes her away and tries not to think at all. Better that than to think of her.

A young Ayorthian woman meets them as they reach the inn.

"Good evening, your highness," she says, lilting only slightly and dipping into a respectful curtsy.

Char dismounts. "Good evening. Are you the proprietor?"

The girl flushes and shakes her head. "No, highness. The daughter of." She makes a soft motion of her hand towards the door. "Your rooms have been prepared, and I can see to your horses."

He nods to the others who dismount on his signal and smiles at the girl. She ducks her head, looks to the side, to her feet, anywhere but in his eyes. "Your name, miss?"

The reply is soft, almost inaudible. "Areida, highness."

He smiles. "Call me Char."

---

It's January, and he looks with nervous anticipation at the frozen pond. Then he shivers and takes an awkward step forward, legs and arms stiff from thick overcoats and sweater layered upon each other, skates making balance awkward. He wobbles, and for a moment, he nearly falls before a hand reaches out and steadies him.

"Whoa there, m'boy." Char glances over his shoulder, loosening his scarf with a mittened hand. Father smiles back down at him. "Are you ready?"

He swallows, nervously, and nods, trying to be brave.

"All right."

Father takes his hand and leads him out onto the ice. His feet skid, and he has to lean heavily on Father's arms to stay upright. But soon, with Father's help, he's sliding forward, haltingly at times but always forward.

"See?" Father prompts, breath weaving out in a cloud. "It isn't so hard?"

Char smiles, elated, and laughs in response.

---

It's July, and Mother is eyeing him critically. She tugs at his shirt collar, purses her lips, and walks around him for the third time.

"Stand up straight," she orders, and he does so automatically. "What--" Char cringes in expectation. "What happened to your pants?"

"I was..." he considers lying and then decides against it. "I was sliding down the railing...again."

"Charmont!" She sounds distressed but also, maybe just a little, amused. "I thought we'd decided you would stop doing that."

"No one was around!" Char protests. "I checked! Besides, it's faster than walking. ...Sorry."

She sighs, and when she does, he knows she isn't really angry. "All right, all right. But hurry and get changed for dinner."

"Yes, mother."

"And don't do at again."

"Yes, mother."

"At least, not when anyone can see." She smiles.

He grins. "Yes, mother."

---

It's April, and Ella's belly is growing round. She complains about it and the morning sickness and the back pain, and she revels in being able to ignore him when he tells her to be careful or to go to bed early.

"You're hovering again," she says one morning as she reads her mail, and he paces behind her.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly and gives her a small hug from behind. "I just worry."

She tilts her head back to smile at him. "Mmmm...You don't need to."

"No," he agrees and kisses her cheek. "but that doesn't mean I won't. Anything interesting?"

She grimaces and looks back at the letters spread out on her desk. "No, only a letter from Hattie. I don't think I've ever seen anyone use the word 'family' that many times before. I suppose I could write her a scalding letter telling her to leave me alone. Maybe then she would get the point? Finally?"

He chuckles in her ear. "Family is what you make it, I suppose."

Ella sighs, a sound Char will never tire of hearing. Like her laugh and her anger and even her tears.

"I suppose."