They had to be polite! But neither wanted to sit through an evening of cello music with the Princess whom they weren’t allowed to talk to unless she asked a question and…

Duchess Grishen. It was going to be a perfectly unbearable few days soon. Culin kicked at the ground as Idelt excused himself to check on the unloading of his village’s produce and payment.

“Er…is there anything I can do to help you, Lady Sasi? Lord Culin?”

“No, thank you, Miss.”

Sasi gave the young [Cellist] a nod of the chin that was somewhat lady-like and tugged her brother back.

“What do we do now, Sasi?”

Culin gazed around hopefully, but there were no immediate children in sight. They might be working apprenticeships since it was earlier this morning, or helping with a harvest or something.

The girl looked around for something to break the monotony of the last few days. And she saw little in sight. That was life in Afiele. They were important. The work they did, the food they grew, was necessary. But—it was hard. She felt tired, a deep exhaustion that pulled at her and made her want to go back and just lie in her bed until supper.

It was a plague upon Afiele. A gloom, born of endless days without sunlight and staying indoors, fearing the undead. Someone afflicted with it might grow listless, out of sorts and unproductive until they stopped eating and just gave up. It usually affected only older adults. But Sasi and Culin had it now.

——

It was a familiar expression. Bleak tiredness. Hopes and dreams too far away, too far to reach for.

Princess Seraphel knew apathy well. She had gone to town with the two [Handmaidens] and Ser Dalimont as an escort. There was little to do here—but she didn’t expect much. She was just going to send more strongly-worded [Messages] to her father as a way to pass time. If he wanted her to stop wasting money on the spells, he could get her out of here!

She barely noticed the wagon and two children. Or Cara or Violetta; she was preoccupied. But she spared a moment just for Sasi and Culin. Because the expressions on their faces were not what children should wear. They should have smiled. Laughed, ran about, gotten into trouble; even Seraphel had been like that.

Only later had she worn the blank look on their faces of disgusted disinterest. The [Princess] stopped for a second, and her handmaiden nearly ran into her back.

“Your Highness? Is something amiss?”

“No, nothing.”

Seraphel walked on. She spared a second’s pity for the two children. By her reckoning, the [Lord] and

[Lady] of this land were good people. It was just station and the setting that had to wear on them. She didn’t even glance at the colorfully-dressed young woman. She walked on, waiting to leave Afiele, but nothing beyond that.