The Butterfly Effect

The first line got her to mumble a foreign curse.

Natheniel ran away.

The second got a half-hearted chuckle out of her.

If you think she can handle it, it might be time to tell her.

Everything that followed in Imre’s letter was all a part of a nervous explanation. Natheniel, right before the new year, had run away; they tried looking but he’d disappeared. It had to have been because of them—because they didn’t talk to him, didn’t sit down and tell him who he was. Tell him that what happened to the Qizarn princess wasn’t his fault.

Lustris, with her rather brief interactions with the boy, actually felt that being told “You didn’t do this. Your predispositions towards becoming a Skiá did.” would’ve solved nothing. There was one part of the letter that she agreed with: that a large portion of it could be blamed on his parents. But she didn’t think it started at the time Imre seemed certain it did. From her fragmented and distant view of things, the possibility of the prince fully accepting who he was had passed a long time ago—the moment they only called that feather necklace a gift.

Then again, at that point, Lustris thought he’d come back; give him a few weeks, maybe a month, and he’d realize he didn’t want to leave. It took her a while to let herself accept that this truly was something big.

Certain at the time that Natheniel would return home soon enough, she considered the second part of Imre’s letter. The thought of it was amusing, almost, despite what he must’ve been considering as he suggested it.

Tell Muriel who she was? The girl barely had the state of mind to be considered “normal.” Mentioning what happened that day would tip her into instability. No matter how much the comfort “it wasn’t your fault” was told, or implications avoided, it would still linger. Lustris would give it a day before Imre found something else to regret.

She didn’t show a single sign of the idea when Muriel eventually emerged from her room. Lustris didn’t even bother to hide the fact she’d gotten a letter; it was vague enough that it would be more damaging to hide it.

“Is that from King Imre..?” Muriel mumbled, glancing over Lustris’s shoulder to read a line of it. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge that it was important.

“Yes, but nothing you need to worry about.” To Lustris, that was the truth. “It’s just a few things he wanted me to be aware of. He asked us to keep Prince Natheniel in mind.”

The pause suggested that Muriel had to remember who that was. “Did something happen to him?”

“He disappeared.”

“He’ll come back eventually, though, won’t he?” An apathetic question. “King Imre seemed nice. Mom liked him, anyway.”

“I’m certain he will.” Lustris glanced at her. “Could you hand me the paper and quill over there? I’d like to let him know that we understand.”

Muriel nodded and did as she was asked. After standing there a moment longer, she wandered off to another room.

Lustris knew Imre would want some kind of response, though it wasn’t the one that he’d be expecting.

‘With all due respect,

I understand what it must feel like to lose him but we should not jump to the solutions we should have done long ago. The time for the truth has passed. At this point it will not right what has gone wrong. I think you realize that.

If you sent this to me then I assume Lady Enuolare received something as well concerning her dreamer. From what I have heard, they are an individual who could bear the weight of those secrets. Muriel is not. Whether this turns out for better or worse, I do not believe I will be telling her anytime soon—if I ever do. It took a long time to settle into what we have now. I know you only mean well but it will do nothing but harm.

I trust you to keep me updated on what our plans are now. Perhaps all three of us could find time to talk in person? Lady Enuolare had to cancel at the last second and I assume, now, you are busy with Natheniel’s disappearance. I believe it is important that we try to schedule something as soon as possible. We must plan for the worst, after all, so that it may never come to pass.

Keep in touch,

Lustris’