The small dining hall was poorly lit—more poorly even than Uachi remembered from his first visit to House Eldran. There were sconces lining the walls, but only every second or third was burning. The table was already set and laden with food when he and Diarmán arrived, bleary-eyed, their noses running from the dust of Emón's study.

"Will you be wanting wine, my lord?" It was the serving woman, standing near the dining table and wiping her hands on her apron.

"I shall make your employment a small bit easier, Brente: you must assume I shall always want wine."

"Just remember, Brother, that each cask costs coin we have in painfully short supply."

Uachi turned to see Leán entering the dining room, sweat staining the collar of his work shirt. He was flushed, as if he had just completed some vigorous exercise. Behind him trailed Declaen, his eyes half-lidded. He seemed dead on his feet.

"I know that. Just a glass," said Diarmán.

Leán raised his eyebrows as if he was not convinced that Diarmán could stop himself at just one glass, but he gestured ahead. Diarmán led the way, skirting the fine chair that stood at the head of the table. He took a place on the bench at one side and Uachi swung a leg over the bench to sit next to him.

The rest of the household trickled in one by one: Ruaraín next, and then Little Emón, then Gaerte. Finally came Padréc and Lady Moigré, he escorting her by the arm.

"Will Aerte be joining us?" Uachi asked.

As Brente passed with a jug of wine, Diarmán cast him a sidelong look. Uachi did not much care for the sly half-smile he wore. It was a knowing smile, and what on earth did Diarmán propose to know? "Likely not," he answered. "Don't worry, Uachi—she'll be freed from her duties soon enough, and you may get to know her well and spend all of your time gossiping about certain gentlemen."

"About fools and headaches, more like," Uachi replied.

As Diarmán laughed, Leán divided a curious look between the pair of them. Uachi did not meet the look; he reached for his goblet of wine instead. But Diarmán had no such discretion.

"Yes—since Grandfather will not be joining us to hurl loud abuse about the matter, allow me to declare it."

Uachi's heart seized painfully. He was not ashamed of whatever this thing between him and Diarmán had become; there was no reason to feel shame, no matter how Old Lord Emón or any of these others might feel about it. But he was not a man to loudly shout his feelings from the rooftops. He preferred to mutter them quietly behind closed doors. He glanced up at Diarmán, drawing breath to speak—but he was not fast enough.

"Uachi u Rora has become a dear friend to me over the past many, many months, as you all know." Diarmán turned on the bench seat, looking at Uachi, meeting his eye. And rather than the braggadocio and wickedness Uachi might have expected, there was nothing but warmth in the man's expression. "Indeed, to me, he has become something more than a friend. I've made my confessions, and I am pleased to my very soul that he has not rebuffed me."

That wasn't true. Uachi had rebuffed Diarmán. Not cruelly in the moment, but perhaps more cruelly, for by allowing hope to remain, they had passed an age in that strange, in-between state. But Uachi recognized the clever half-lie in Diarmán's announcement. By claiming the role of confessor, he claimed also the vulnerability that came along with it. In his family's minds, he would be the one whispering confessions in fear of being rebuked.

Emón's voice came then, clear as a bell. "Does this mean that you're getting married?"

"Two men can't marry," said Gaerte.

"Why not?"

"Marriage is meant to produce heirs." Gaerte hesitated. "How will you—"

"Let's not have this conversation," Leán interrupted. "This is a new thing, yes?"

Diarmán opened his mouth to reply, but looked at Uachi, saying nothing.

"More or less," Uachi said, which was true because it meant hardly anything.

"Then we shall certainly not ask about marriage and heirs." Leán looked pointedly down the table at the youngest two of the Eldran brothers, sitting side by side farthest from him. He raised a hand as Brente passed, refusing her offer of wine, and she moved on without pouring. "We shall simply wish you well."

"Certainly," said Padréc. He raised his tankard. He, and all the brothers at the table, had only water; only Diarmán, Uachi, and Lady Moigré had taken wine. Around the table, young men lifted their tankards in a salute. Diarmán raised his goblet. Uachi lifted his.

Lady Moigré was the only one who hesitated, looking troubled. She took up her goblet, but she did not raise it.

"Mother, will you not toast to Diarmán and Uachi's health?" asked Leán.

"Have you told your grandfather?" she asked instead of answering.

Diarmán lowered his goblet. "No, and I shall not."

She looked relieved. "It is best not to trouble him now."

With a scoff, Diarmán drank of his wine. "It is best not to trouble myself."

"Then none shall be troubled." Leán again revealed himself as the peace-keeper in the family, thought Uachi. He had proven himself to be mild and conciliatory, a foil to Diarmán. Leán lifted his tankard again, as if to emphasize the toast, and then drank. All the people seated at the table followed him, drinking together. As he tasted the wine, Uachi felt a strange new warmth in his chest.

"This is not all the news I have," said Diarmán, moving seamlessly on from the subject of potential romance. "I come bearing a gift of uncertain price."

He was met with silence and curious stares. Diarmán looked around, steepling his fingers over his untouched plate, savoring his family's interest.

It was typical of the man: he did love a moment of theater.

"Well?" Padréc prompted. "Should I be intrigued, or not—you say it is of uncertain price."

"Intrigued, of course. The Emperor of Penrua has made a proclamation supporting the claim I and all of you have to the Eldran seat."

Gaerte and Ruaraín shared a perplexed look. Declaen, frowning, said, "Why?"

"Why? Because I'm a war hero, that's why!" Diarmán said. "His Grace and I are good friends now, I think you will find."

Uachi hid his smirk with another sip of wine. He might not have characterized Diarmán and Matei's relationship as good friendship, but it certainly was amicable.

"I don't understand," Declaen persisted. "I thought that we had been granted independence from Penrua."

"That's true," said Diarmán. "But we didn't leave the world nor even break away from the continent, Brother. No nation is wholly independent."

"Emperor Matei's relations with Narr have become cordial, although strained," Uachi said. "He has the Narrian princesses as wards to ensure that there is no further significant violence, but there are many other compromises and favors and requests traded between Penrua and Narr."

There were a couple of nods of understanding. Leán said, "I had heard that certain lines of trade have reopened. We're again buying Penruan silk."

Emón wrinkled his nose. "What for?"

"The nation, not us specifically," said Leán.

"Which is another matter we should discuss," said Diarmán. "Mother tells me you've been keeping the household's accounts of late. I would be interested to see them and to learn what you have learned."

"Of course. I have the ledgers in my rooms; we can discuss them after supper, if you wish."