His elbows rested on his knees and his foot jiggled restlessly, as if he couldn’t bear to be in a space as confined as a chair. His face was lined with anxiousness, but he was solid and real and alive, and for a moment Jainan was an invisible observer in a private bubble of affection.

It only took seconds for one of the reporters in the audience to turn their head and notice the newcomer. Jainan’s arrival spread out through the crowd like a ripple. Photographers turned their lenses. At the front, Ressid hadn’t yet noticed.

“… remains committed to the treaty,” she said. “Discussions are still underway with the Resolution’s Auditor…” She faltered and stopped.

Jainan swallowed, ignoring all the press, and returned her gaze. He wasn’t twenty-two, newly married and naive anymore. He wasn’t twenty-six and trying to hide. He and Ressid would have to talk, and until then, he could at least look her in the eye.

Not everyone in the front row had noticed. One of the reporters took advantage of the gap to jump in. “And Count Jainan’s press statements today?

Can you comment on that?”

Ressid was not a trained diplomat for nothing. The steel returned to her voice as she turned her attention back to the press. “I must disclose a personal interest.

You are all aware Count Jainan is my brother.” As she said my brother, her eyes went briefly back to Jainan, fierce and uncompromising, and then bored into the reporter again. “After the treaty is signed, we demand that Count Jainan comes to live on Thea.”

Jainan stopped in shock.

A murmur rose around him. On the dais behind Ressid, Kiem looked as if someone had finally landed a blow he’d been dreading. His shoulders slumped.

“Next question,” Ressid said. Jainan realized she was trying to protect him

from the glare of attention.

“No,” someone said sharply. “Stop.” Jainan realized it was him.

Kiem looked up. The whole room was paying attention now, but that wasn’t important. Jainan saw the moment Kiem realized he was there. He saw the way Kiem straightened from his slump like someone had pulled him up, and he saw Kiem’s whole expression light up with hope.

Jainan had never been good at communicating, but he didn’t have to be, because now his certainty was a cascading river buoying him along. As he strode up to the front, camera lenses started turning on him. He ignored them. He ignored everything except the way Kiem shot out of his chair, caught his foot on the leg of it, stumbled, reached out.

Jainan caught his hands. He hadn’t meant to clutch them as tightly as he did.

“Kiem.”

“Jainan,” Kiem said, as if his name was the first breath of air he’d drawn in minutes. “You—you’re—you’re—”

“What’s this about?” Jainan said.

“Splitting us up?” Kiem said. He didn’t seem to be able to string more than a few words together. People had started to call questions from behind Jainan, but neither of them paid attention. “I didn’t—”