Marwa Dresden was dead.
She was the king's closest friend. His most loyal advisor. An auntie to his son. A mediator. An intelligent, outspoken, just woman. A mother. And she was dead.
Marwa Dresden was dead, and it was all Cricket's fault.
She fell ill some days after her argument with Uncle Sunil. One evening her and Cricket had been caught out in the rain trying to round up the rabbits in the yard. By the next morning she'd developed a ghastly cough. Before a fortnight Selene had called her home.
It was all Cricket's fault.
"You can't just hide in your rooms all the time," Ignacia said, but Cricket hardly heard her. All he could think of was how he couldn't possibly face Anstice. Not after he'd killed her mother. She'd never forgive him, and she never should. If there was any kind of justice in the world Cricket would be next to catch cold, and he'd die before the week was out. "Are you listening to me?"
"No," Cricket mumbled, staring out across the lawns. Rain pelted the glass of his window, distorting the world outside in a melting mess of color. The grass was still green, the flowers were still blooming, the world was still so full of life. But it would never be the same. Never again. Because Marwa Dresden was dead.
"No?" Ignacia asked, her tone annoyed and incredulous. And that was fine, because Cricket deserved her ire. He deserved that and so much more. "What do you mean 'no'?"
Cricket shrugged, unable to say anything else. He wasn't even really sure what they were talking about anymore. His sketchbook lay discarded in his lap, a half-finished drawing of Marwa on the page. Already he could feel the image of her fading. Going fuzzy and indistinct around the edges as memories do. He'd wanted to paint her, so that Anstice would have something to remember her by. A real painting, not one of those stuffy portraits that hung in the hall of ancestors. Something that showed her at her best. But there was something about the eyes... it wasn't right.
Ignacia said something else. He didn't hear her over the pounding of the rain on the glass. It didn't matter anyway. They couldn't hold the funeral until it stopped raining. And it had been raining for four days. Since Marwa had passed. That seemed fitting, didn't it? For Selene to wash the earth away in her grief over the loss of one so loyal and true as—
The sketchbook on his lap was tugged away, and he jerked around to narrow a glare at Ignacia. She wasn't paying him any mind, her eyes were fixed on the sketch, assessing it. "What's wrong with it?"
"The eyes aren't right. They're not as... something, as they should be." Cricket sighed, leaning over to bump his head against the glass with a thunk.
"You can't keep blaming yourself for this. What happened isn't your fault, and Anstice doesn't blame you." Ignacia sat the sketchbook down on a nearby table, and perched herself on the window seat next to him.
"She should."
"No. She shouldn't. People catch colds, it happens. It's no one's fault."
"She shouldn't have been out there with me rounding up the rabbits. It was my responsibility. Father told me to do it." Cricket's head lulled to the side so he could look at her, but even then, he couldn't meet her eyes. "Uncle said I should have taken care of it by myself. Like a man."
Ignacia huffed, rolling her eyes. "Your uncle needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut."
Cricket opened his mouth to argue, and she wrapped her hand around it to keep him from doing just that.
"Marwa would have said the same thing. She didn't like how he always bullied you. It's not right. You're his nephew, he should be kinder."
Cricket tried to reply, but it was muffled by her hand.
"I won't hear any more of your nonsense. Get up. We're having lunch with Anstice in the bunny sanctuary, and she'll be expecting you." Ignacia pulled her hand away, and picked up the sketchpad again. "And I think you should put this on canvas. I know you've got some other sketches of her from your earlier work. Maybe those will help you get the eyes right. She'd want Anstice to have it."
"You think so?"
"Don't you?"
"Yeah... I suppose she would." He took the pad, looking down at the sketch. The eyes would be an easy enough fix once he started adding color. He could bring a life and light to them that just pencil couldn't. Or at least he hoped so, because he didn't think he could live with himself if he didn't pay homage to Marwa the only way he knew how, with paint. "Wait. Lunch?"
"Yes, lunch." Ignacia had moved away from him and was tidying his room. Scratch that, she was merely moving the mess from one place to another as there was really no way to tidy Cricket's room. The maids had long since given it up, and he honestly didn't want them to have to clean up after him when it got to be this bad.
"Whose idea was that?"
"Yours." She'd extricated a basket from somewhere amongst the mess and was piling his dirty laundry into it. "You really ought to have Callie come in here at least once a month and clean up."
"It's not Callie's job to make sure my room is tidy, it's mine. Father said so."
"Hm," Ignacia hummed grabbing a paint-stained pair of trousers from a chair.
"Not those! Those are my painting pants." He leaped up to snatch them from her. "And when did I decide to schedule a lunch?"
Ignacia dropped his "painting pants" where she found them and continued on gathering up the rest of the laundry. "Last night. When you fell asleep at your desk, and I wrote the invitations."
"That's illegal," he accused, carefully folding the pants and hanging them over the stool in front of his easel.
"I'd like to see you prove it." Ignacia smirked, dropping the basket just outside the door for one of the maids to pick up. "Now come along then. It'd be rude to schedule a memorial lunch with a grieving daughter, and then not show up."
"I hate you," Cricket said with no real bite.
Anstice was waiting for them with red rimmed eyes, and no fewer than five rabbits in her lap when they arrived. At the sight of Cricket, she let out a soft, but happy sob.
"Cricket! Oh, thank Selene, Cricky! I've missed you! Where have you been!" Anstice shooed the rabbits from her lap, picking her way across their pin, careful not to step on them. Then she was in front of Cricket, and her eyes were so wild, and hopeful, and sad that Cricket wanted to cry. But instead of smacking him, as she rightly should, she threw her arms around his neck to hug him close.
Cricket's wide gaze jerked to Ignacia, who was wearing an expression so smug he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.
"Come sit. Come sit," Anstice said, pulling back to let them in through the gate of the little enclosure.
"Anstice, I'm—" Cricket started, but before he could go any further, Anstice smacked him with her fan. "What in the name of Styx was that for?!"
"Don't you dare apologize. I don't want to hear it." Her tone had gone hard, her eyes narrowing. Cricket felt his stomach drop.
"Right. Of course. I'll just... I won't..." Cricket swallowed roughly around the rawness of unshed tears in his throat. He'd known this would happen; he'd just hoped to avoid facing that reality at least until after the funeral. "I'll leave you alone."
"What? What are you talking about? What's he talking about Iggy?" Anstice's head jerked to Ignacia, her expression confused.
"He thinks it's his fault," Ignacia supplied helpfully.
"Well, where did he get a stupid idea like that from?"
Ignacia didn't answer, but the look she gave Anstice must have spoken volumes.
"Why that self-righteous, arrogant, old goat. You know Mother always said he shouldn't be allowed to scold Cricket like he does. That yes, he's Cricket's uncle, but he shouldn't be allowed to help raise him." Anstice's face had gone quite red. She tapped her fan angrily against her open palm. "And you," she said smacking Cricket with the fan particularly hard in the neck.
"Ouch!" Cricket hissed rubbing the already reddening skin.
"Don't you start listening to him now. As your advisor, I'll tell you exactly what Mother would have said, whatever Sunil says, you just ignore him and do the opposite. He's usually wrong anyway, so that's a safe bet." Anstice nodded to herself, looking quite pleased with her words.
"But if I hadn't—"
Anstice smacked him again with her fan. "Honestly, Ignacia, how do you spend all of your time with this stupid boy?"
"Hey wait a minute. I'm not stupid." Cricket huffed, pouting.
"He's only stupid when he opens his mouth," Ignacia said with a shrug.
"Which is all the time," Anstice argued.
"I suppose that's fair."
"I'm still right here!"
"Come, Anstice, let's have some tea." Ignacia held out her arm for Anstice, and then guided her over to a table set up in the middle of the rabbit pen. Both of them completely ignoring Cricket's continued sulk.
The playful air and banter continued for the duration of their lunch. It was as if a bubble surrounded the trio, blocking out the rest of the world. As they sat together, they were not crown prince, not lady in waiting, not royal advisor. They were simply Cricky, Iggy, and Annie. Three very old friends, finding comfort in one another the way only old friends could.
The rain cleared shortly thereafter. As if Selene herself had taken comfort in their reunion, and found peace in the loss of Marwa Dresden.
The funeral was held the very next day. A small ceremony, which was no less meaningful and heartfelt for its meager numbers. Those who had come to face the mud were people who truly loved Marwa Dresden. People who were truly saddened by her passing.
Cricket's mind flashed back to the last Dresden funeral he'd been to. Five-year-old Anstice straight backed, and decked in traditional mens mourning silks as her father as lowered into the ground. They'd spent half the funeral trying to subtly scratch each other's backs without drawing Uncle's notice. Anstice looked more at home in the soft gown and shawl in white that she'd chosen for her mother's funeral. He was grateful for this small mercy as her body shook with sobs. She deserved whatever would make this day the littlest bit less horrible.
Uncle Sunil spent the entirety of the ceremony glaring at Cricket where he stood holding one of Anstice's hands, while Ignacia held the other. Cricket studiously ignored him, the day wasn't about Uncle Sunil and his strange penchant for propriety. It was about finding comfort in one another during the loss of one of their own. And if Uncle Sunil couldn't see that...well...
Father gave a moving speech that left not a single dry eye in the small gathering. And when it was all over, Anstice let out a whimper, and Cricket pulled her into a tight hug so she could press her running kohl-rimmed eyes against his itchy silk tunic. Ignacia waited with them, her hand making slow circles up and down Anstice's back to sooth her as the others left.
"She's gone, Cricky. She's really gone." Anstice's words were a muffled wail against his chest, but he didn't have to hear them well to understand. "She's gone and I'm all alone."
"You're not alone," Cricket murmured, squeezing her tighter to him. "You've still got me and Iggy and Father. We're going to take care of each other, just like we always have."
"We are," Ignacia said.
"I don't know if I can replace her." Anstice gripped the front of his tunic, wrinkling the silk. Cricket didn't complain, it was ruined anyway, and what was a tunic when it came to his best friend's comfort.
"You can't replace her," Cricket said, words soft. "No one can. And you won't."
Anstice pulled her head from his chest to look up at him. Her eyes were red rimmed again, puffy from crying, and she had streaks of kohl down her cheeks. He was sure he didn't look much better, and he knew Ignacia didn't either. In spite of everything, Marwa Dresden had been mother to them all in a way. She may have given birth to Anstice, but she'd raised the three of them. Made them siblings. Taught them how to rely on one another. Lunette would not be the same without her.
"I won't?"
"No. You won't." Cricket took a deep breath, forcing himself to hold Antice's gaze. He hated saying things like this. He hated making grand declarations. That was Father's job, Father's place. But he supposed now was as good a time as any to get a little practice. "You won't because like you said, no one can replace Marwa. And that's okay. You don't have to replace her; she wouldn't want you to. What she'd want is for you to do the job your way. Don't be Marwa Dresden, Royal Advisor to the king of Lunette."
Anstice blinked at him, her tears slowing as confusion replaced despair if just for the moment. "No?"
"No. Be Anstice Naveen Dresden, Royal Advisor to the king of Lunette, best friend to Prince Cricket, and hand-painted fan connoisseur." Cricket smiled a little. It was weak and wobbly around the edges, but it was a smile, nonetheless.
Ignacia was looking at him in awe, and then she winked, her lips tugging just a little at the corners into a grin of her own. "You think you can manage that Annie?"
"Yeah." Anstice nodded. "Yeah. I think I can."
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