A small war raged inside Diyiren's head. Aoibh hadn't even read his letters. Not one. He remembered each word as clearly as the day he wrote them.
August 16, 1447
BoBo insisted on revelry for Nianzang's first birthday and Nianzang clapped, because of course, BoBo made this suggestion in front of Nianzang and Diyiren couldn't deny his son anything. The cook began preparations that moment, organized a full menu. Servants were engaged and invitations sent.
Diyiren accidentally ripped his robe on his claws. He hated himself for having the idea, but he went to his desk, knelt down and started a letter.
Dear Aoibh,
I have named our son Nianzang. He will be a year old soon. We are having a celebration and I thought you might have some interest in coming. He is very much like you. His smile is sunshine itself. His eyes twinkle. He has my coloring, black hair, dark eyes, but his stomach protrudes like yours. He loves music and dancing, so I have hired bards to entertain him.
You and I can make some kind of arrangement. Your grandmother may come as well if she agrees to a complement of guards.
I hope you are otherwise well, that the hens produce many eggs and the cow gives enough milk. If you require a goat or some other luxury, do not hesitate to ask.
Best wishes.
I look forward to your reply.
YOU ARE READING
The Lamb and the Gray Battle
FantasyEvie has spent the last 575 years on the North American continent, now called America, the Pure and Clean. She smiles, volunteers and makes cakes and pastries for her neighbors, hiding away her demon blood. She wants nothing to do with her estranged...
