“Fables?” he asked. The book was old leather, and finely embroidered. The pale brown paper crackled as he flipped through the pages, each one dense with writing that moved and shaped itself about dozens of ink illustrations. He saw the island’s two gods often among them, but there were others, goats and sheep, foxes in a forest, women with bows atop horses and men with axes fighting curled serpents.

“You have read much of my library,” Thorda explained. “But I feel it appropriate you learn more of your own history and culture. You not only fight to protect what the empire would take, but to remember what the priests would have you forget.”

Cyrus closed the book, eager to read through the pages but knowing doing so in the middle of his own party was hardly polite.

“You spoil me with gifts and cakes,” he told those in attendance. His grin narrowed at nearby Stasia, busy wolfing down the final three cakes like a woman on a mission. “Though it seems you also spoil yourselves, too.”

“Damn straight,” Stasia said as she crammed the last honey cake into her mouth. “I’d say we deserve it for dragging your ass around.”

“I suppose I could make your job easier by leaving entirely. How is that for a plan?”

Stasia socked him in the shoulder.

“Stop acting like you don’t deserve some fun. I couldn’t get rid of you even if I wanted to. You’re the little brother I never wanted.”

Cyrus smiled to hide the kick to his gut. He looked across the ramshackle confectionary, to Thorda and Mari, Clarissa and Stasia, Rayan and Keles. They were his comrades in arms, men and women who had trained and molded him in a quest to retake a throne. But over the years, he had seen their time together, however pleasant, as an obligation. He was a goal to achieve, and little more. That they would do so willingly? That they were his friends, and actively desired his companionship beyond the fighting?

That they would consider him family?

“Thank you,” he said. He clutched the book of fables to his chest and fought back a sudden wave of emotions. All eyes were upon him, but this was so different from when he was paraded about elegant ballrooms. His pulse did not race, and his panic did not rise. He wore no mask, and here, he recognized every face. He did not wish to hide from them, for there was nothing at all to hide. “I’m so lucky for each and every one of you.”

Mari clapped excitedly, and he was thankful her joy masked over any awkwardness of his emotional gratitude.

“We have the eating and the drinking,” she said, turning to Rayan. “But I believe we are missing the third key pillar of a proper gathering, and that is the dancing.”

“Did you prepare me a lute as I requested?”