The Summer War

by Naomi Novik

She wanted to believe, afterwards, that she wouldn’t have said the curse if she’d known that it would work. She loved Argent more than she hated him, even in the moment. But oh—she wanted so much for the words to hurt him a little, to stick in his head like a pebble in his shoe, so he would have to take her, some part of her, away with him for just a little while, until he cast even that off and found himself some summer lord to fall in love with, in their courts of endless green, and lived happily ever after

He didn’t care if he wore the crown or not; he only wanted to put himself in charge. Mostly, Celia felt, once she’d worked out just what Father was doing, because he couldn’t stand how many stupid mistakes other people made.

But now Father was the one who had made the stupid mistake. Celia knew that Father didn’t care that Argent liked boys; nothing like that ever mattered to him. What he did care about was that if people knew that Argent liked boys, it would give the king an excuse to refuse to give him a royal princess for his wife, and maybe even to disinherit him. Father had just been trying to teach Argent not to get caught, and it had never occurred to him that Argent wanted love more than power.

“Because caring about people who don’t care back is stupid, and you’re not,” Roric said. “You were just little. You didn’t know you were being stupid. That’s why you cared about Argent, even though he didn’t care about you.”

He came back to the sitting room that day pretending they hadn’t quarreled at all, but she didn’t mind; she preferred the apology he’d already made, by listening to her.

But she had a second brother. And if she did save the peace, Roric would get the same chance she’d be giving all those other people of Prosper: to make a family that could grow in peace. Roric would take that chance and use it. He’d marry, and have children, and he’d love them all. And he wouldn’t avenge Celia, but he’d remember her instead. She saw it as clearly in her mind as if she were there: Roric and his wife and children, all together in the warm, glowing sitting room in Todholme Castle, and he’d tell them stories about the sister he’d loved, and who had loved him.