Home Ground

Bearing Fruit ~~~ Home Ground Ann Somerville

This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Bearing Fruit Copyright © 2006 by Ann Somerville Home Ground Copyright © 2006 by Ann Somerville

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information please visit my website at http://logophilos.net Smashwords Edition 1, February 2010 Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Published by Ann Somerville

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kei’s office door opened and closed behind him. “Hello, Arman.” But then he stopped with a frown, used over twenty years’ experience to quickly dissect his lover’s mood, and finally turned. “What’s happened?” Arman’s stern, handsome face betrayed nothing of the turbulent emotions Kei sensed within him. “Nothing bad, I assure you.” “Then why are you...?” Excited, worried...sad.... “Has someone been hurt?” Arman shook his head as he came over to kiss Kei on the forehead. “No, nothing like that. It’s just...a rather surprising letter was delivered this afternoon. By the Prijian ambassador. In person.” Kei raised an eyebrow at this surprising news—Tir Kamus was a genial and enlightened fellow, but like most Prij of his class, very aware of his dignity. Delivering mail to the Darshianese Rulers would normally be well beneath him. “Tell you about it while we have a swim?” Kei agreed—the warmer weather always lured him outside, and he’d been stuck in his office the whole day. Sometimes he wondered how he’d ever let Lord Meki talk him into taking this job, though most of the time he loved it and the people around him. But when the sun was hot and a delicious salty breeze blew in from the harbour...and he could see Arman naked.... “You have the most disgusting thoughts, Master Healer,” Arman said, slapping his bottom gently. “Hey! Become Gifted, have you?” Arman only grinned at him, taking his hand to tug him towards the door. “After all these years, my love, I can tell when your thoughts become unfit for small children. Come on, there’s a lot to tell you.” They weren’t the only people taking the late spring air, or indeed, heading towards the swimming beach. They had Lord Peika to thank for the fact that the water was far cleaner than it might be. As a father and a water lover, he’d personally seen to the rigorous application of laws concerning the dumping of waste from ships and dwellings into the ocean. Not only was it safe to swim in Darshek harbour, it was also safe to eat the fish caught from it. The same was not true in Urshek or Utuk or Garok, sad to say, so Arman’s brother had reported to them. As Kei looked forward to his favourite recreation—second favourite, he amended scrupulously, squeezing Arman’s hand in silent apology—he sent good wishes in the Ruler’s general direction. Swimming made the hot weather in this city so much more bearable. “So, come on. What’s in this famous letter?”

“An invitation from the Sovereign of Kuprij to the most illustrious Rulers of Darshek, to visit Utuk. There was also,” Arman continued, ignoring Kei’s startled surprise, “another request which I have to pass on to the Master of the academy. Which is you, of course.” “Yes, I’m aware of that, dear. What request? I swear, I’ve delivered babies that came out with greater speed than this news.” Kei narrowed his eyes. “You’re teasing me. You’ll pay for this, you bastard.” “I look forward to my punishment,” Arman said with the serenity of someone who’d faced all Kei’s threats and survived. “My hesitation is because...well, damn it—they want you to come and open the new academy down there. And they want me to go with you as part of the official delegation. Me—by name. Sei General Lord Arman himself, as the letter called me.” Kei blinked as he tried to process all this information. “Me? In Utuk? You?” Arman was apparently completely serious, cautiously watching Kei to see his reaction. “Why? Why me, and more importantly, why you? Is this a trick?” Arman sighed. “It’s the obvious assumption, of course. Except...there’s nothing to gain from it, because harming either of us would be an outright act of war. Nothing indicates that his Serenity wants that—quite the contrary. They’ve been putting considerable efforts into strengthening ties with us. Kamus says that the sovereign asked for me because of my ‘symbolic power’. Now, I know Nivuman is not unaware of my history or of what happened last time I was there, and I very much doubt he wants more riots—so I have to assume he knows the risks and believes the benefits outweigh them.” Kei was still trying to absorb the astonishing idea of Arman actually being invited back to a country which had soundly rejected him twenty-three years before, and where his mere presence less than seven years ago had provoked angry riots. “He’s making a statement,” he said slowly. “A big statement. He wants you to poke some people in the eye.” “Yes. That would be my guess. But I do have great symbolic power, in fact, if his aim is as stated, to foster close relations between the two countries. It’s a clever idea—we all agreed on that when we met this afternoon. No one’s really sure what to do, though.” Arman walked on again, and Kei fell into step beside him. Stripped of his Ruler’s robes, and wearing the most ordinary of civilian clothes, Arman looked no more significant—though infinitely more handsome, Kei insisted to himself—than any other Prij walking along the harbour path. Darshek now had a sizeable foreign population, and one heard Prijian being spoken almost as often as Darshianese. The Prij who stayed were the adaptable ones, the tolerant ones. The kind who strengthened their new home, and brought new skills to it. And Arman was surely the most adaptable, tolerant and strengthening Prij of all. A very potent symbol indeed, for all his harmless demeanour as they strolled along, anonymously as they both preferred. A Prij from the very highest strata of a highly stratified society, once holding its second highest military rank, and an intimate of the former Ruler. And then condemned by his own people as a traitor for bringing peace, for ending a pointless war with a country which then

offered him a home and a lover, rising to become that country’s ruler, and one of its most lauded citizens. To most Prij, he was still a traitor—but it seemed the virtues which made Arman so highly valued in Darshian were also not without merit to His Serenity, Nivuman, sovereign of Kuprij. “Will you go? I felt your excitement...and sadness...your father,” Kei said, suddenly realising the implications. “You want to go before....” “Before he dies, yes. You can say that, Kei. Everyone dies, and my father is in his seventysecond year. A long life for one of us and you know it.” Kei briefly rested his head on Arman’s shoulder. “His loss would be no less painful for coming after a long life. Seeing you arrive in triumph, welcomed...would be a wonderful thing for your family.” “If it’s not some kind of a trap. Nivuman knows you’re a former hostage. He knows your role in the ending of the war, he knows you’re gifted...the military man in me can’t help but think we would be giving the Prij two valuable personnel whose loss would affect this nation badly, though I say it myself.” “Your loss would affect this nation badly,” Kei insisted, looking deep in Arman’s intensely blue eyes. “Then refuse politely. It’s not like you have to go.” “No. Quite.” As they walked along, the sun beating strongly down on them, Arman was silent until at last they reached their destination. The beach was crowded with families and friends, and it was a bit of a struggle to find a place to undress and leave their clothes. As a Ruler, Arman could have commanded any amount of space for himself. Arman would have rather forgone swimming for all time than thus abuse his position. Instead, they excused themselves as they squeezed in between two family groups, and quickly shed their clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile for their return. The water’s edge also teemed with people—children splashing, parents helping their youngsters learn to swim—so that he and Arman had to strike out to deeper water before they had room for a proper workout. Kei was a great advocate of swimming as an exercise, especially, as he had to ruefully admit, for men and women of his age, and Arman had taken his advice very seriously. As soon as the evenings were long enough and warm enough, he would come down here as often as possible and swim for an hour or more. His enthusiasm for this activity and his other pursuits, meant that, unlike Lord Peika or Lord Jiv, whose waistlines had slowly spread along with their dignity over the years, Arman was as trim and nearly as fighting fit as he’d been when Kei had first met him. Not at all bad for forty-eight, Kei had to admit, admiring the way Arman’s powerful arms sliced through the water as he splashed his way across the harbour. Kei followed him, and though he was pretty fighting fit himself, he really had to work to keep up with his lover. He realised that Arman had a specific destination in mind—he was heading to the other end of the beach, a good quarter-mile away, and which was far less crowded.

They shook themselves dry as they reached the land. Kei helped Arman squeeze the water from his heavy braid, while Arman returned the favour. “It’s the one time I really regret all this damn hair,” Arman muttered as he held the dripping thing piled on his head. “You say that nearly every time,” Kei reminded him, though after they found a suitable place to sit on the sand, he did try to squeeze it a little more to show willing. Arman’s braid was so thick, that was the problem—it held water like a sponge. Finally he gave up trying to fight the hairy mass, and instead leaned against his lover, signalling rather clearly that he would very much appreciate another kiss, thank you. Arman got the message, and gifted Kei with a long, slow caress that would lead to activities probably not particularly befitting the dignity of either of their offices, nor polite in a public setting like this unless they were both sensible. Kei hated being sensible, but one had to think of one’s fellow citizens, he thought, sighing as he reluctantly sat up and indicated that they’d better stop. Arman took his hand and began a gentle massage, an affectionate habit that Kei had come to adore over all these years. “You still want to go, don’t you?” “Yes. I don’t know why, really—except for Father. But it’s not like I haven’t accepted some time ago that each time he visits might be the last time I see him. Sooner or later, it will be the last time, and I’m not moving back to Utuk just to sit and wait for him to die. He’d consider me a fool, and rightly.” “And it’d be a mistake to spend so much time thinking of how much you’ll miss them when they go, while they’re still here and vigorous. Mari hasn’t indicated he’s unwell, has she?” “No, not at all. Just the arthritis, as always. It’s only his age that gives me concern.” Arman stared out to sea, his aristocratic features in profile, his mouth turned down. Kei sensed his sadness once again. It wasn’t so much that Arman couldn’t face his father dying at the natural end of a long and busy life, but that he and his parent had wasted so much of that long life in a stupid estrangement. Arman always felt he’d cheated himself and his father—it was a regret that could really never have an answer. “We could just go, you and I, as private citizens. Slip in and out—it’s not like you’re that well known personally anymore, and since Mekus has gone, no one will be fomenting trouble against you.” “No, they probably wouldn’t. But if I’m going to go, why not go in style and have it serve Darshian, and not merely my own satisfaction? You don’t have to come with...ouch!” Arman gave him a wounded look, as he tugged his braid away from Kei’s hand. “What was that for?” “That was for being a pissing idiot, my beloved. You are not going away to a foreign land again without me. I thought we settled that once and for all.” He glared fiercely at his lover until Arman sighed, then kissed him in apology. “Hmpf, I should hope so too. It’s bad enough that in a few months or so, Karik and Romi will be off to Andon again, and I’ll have that to worry about.”

“Then I won’t go. It’s not important. It’s not like I would have planned to go if this invitation hadn’t come.” Kei looked critically at him. “You would have planned it, except for me. It’s not your own safety, is it? It’s mine.” Arman lifted his hand and kissed it carefully. “You don’t belong in Utuk. I don’t belong in Utuk, but there’s Father and Tijus and Mari and the children.... But they know my life is here. I won’t subject you to a dangerous sea journey and a possibly hostile reception for their sake. Oh, stop that,” he said crossly, as Kei tugged his braid again. “Now what did I say?” “No one’s been lost on the Darshek-Urshek journey in fifty years, so it’s hardly dangerous. And why would they be hostile to me? Everyone loves me,” he said with fake sweetness, then dodged the mock slap. “Well, they do.” “Some of us do, assuredly, though the gods alone know why sometimes. You forget that a small but prominent group of senators hold you personally responsible for my defection.” “A small and out of favour group, you mean. I bet Nivuman wants to use me to poke them in the eye. They don’t scare me,” he declared stoutly. “And I do want to see this new academy. It’s such a wonderful project, you know that. My main reservation is the length of time it’ll take to do this—we spent all that time at New Year in the village, and I still want to go there for end of summer. When’s the opening?” Arman shrugged. “At our convenience, actually. Kamus was being incredibly accommodating—we can come when we want, stay as long as we want, bring whoever we want with us. Including, he was careful to point out, any of our Gifted friends.” Kei looked at him in renewed amazement. “That is accommodating. Nivuman is really Prijian, isn’t he? He seems too sensible sometimes.” “I’ll ignore the racial slur because it’s true. Yes, he’s one of mine, but brighter than most, and he owes nothing to Kita or Mekus. He’s worth cultivating—and worth supporting. Showing him to have the backing of the Darshianese—and our Gifted friends—won’t do him any harm in some quarters. The others will hate him whatever he does. My brother says Nivuman has his eyes on the future. Darshian could do with more leaders like him in charge of Kuprij.” “Yes, we could.” Kei tried to examine his feelings honestly on the subject of returning to a city which had given him a good deal of sorrow—but also the magnificent and beloved man beside him. “I really would like to do this,” he said thoughtfully. “In some ways, though, I could wish for a longer journey, not a shorter one, come back through the dry regions so I could meet my people, see how things are for them on the ground. The south is sadly neglected compared to the three most northern villages.” Arman gave him a sharp look. “What?” “I wonder if you’ve suddenly developed the gift of mind-speaking, that’s all. Because the Rulers were just talking about this very idea—that if I and anyone else were to go, we could turn

it into a proper cross-country procession, bringing the Rulers to the people. It seems incredible that something like this hasn’t been done before.” “How long do you envisage?” Kei felt his own excitement rising, however much he tried to temper it with caution. The Prij couldn’t be trusted, not as a nation. Everyone knew it—even Arman knew it. To be involved in a political game, however peripherally, could be highly dangerous—as Mekus and his family and hangers-on had found to their cost five years before. “Say...two months? Three at most. Sail to Utuk, do the necessary, then cross to Urshek and travel overland—we could still be in Ai-Albon when we usually would, and finish the journey that way. You’re right—Ai-Kislik and Ai-Beyto have had an unfair share of attention over the years simply because of their proximity. And it’d be a good opportunity to beat the drum for Romi and Karik’s outfit too.” “For all kinds of things,” Kei said, suddenly enthused. “I mean—not everyone has to come to Utuk, but this could be a real chance to show the face of the government to the people, and show what they’re getting for their money, so to speak. It could even become a regular thing.” Arman raised a golden brow at him. “Let’s not get too excited. This might all end in disaster.” “My lover the optimist,” Kei said, poking him in the side. “Worth putting to their lords and ladyships?” “Certainly. But something to spend a bit more time considering, too.” He pulled Kei almost into his lap and stared into his eyes. “My father sent me home to you. He knew that meant he and I might never see each other again, and there was a perfectly honourable alternative that would have let me stay with him for nearly two years. Yet he sent me back to live my own life with my own lover, and he would be furious if I accepted this invitation for us both, putting you at risk, simply for his sake.” He raised a hand to forestall Kei’s objection. “There may be other good reasons to accept. But he would be the first to discount anything that involved his own preferences.” “Like father, so like son.” Kei said, sighing. “It’s not actually wrong to do things because you want them, you know. And besides—I’d like to see him again. Your father is a very good man. Talking to him is a pleasure, and you know how fond I am of Mari and your brother’s family. So let’s visit, and if we can promote learning and tolerance as we go, then why not?” Arman only nodded, looking thoughtful. Kei could sense the same mixture of emotions as before—excitement and worry—and understood them because he felt them too. This could be a wonderful thing for both of them—or it could be a huge mistake. They would probably only know which once they landed in Utuk, and by then...well, it would be too late, wouldn’t it?

~~~~~~~~

“Have you got the doll?” Karik asked as he tied off his pack. “First thing I put in, dear,” Romi said, amused as ever by his lover’s obsession with detail. “Your braid’s coming loose.” Karik stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Well, fix it, damn it—what do I keep you around for?” Romi grinned, and came over obediently. “Bossy little bastard—turn around.” Rebraiding the plait took moments—giving Karik a little scalp massage and a few gentle kisses on the back of the neck, a little longer—but Romi didn’t begrudge the time. Touching Karik was never work. But finally he flipped the long golden braid and announced he was done, and Karik turned, put his arms around him and kissed him. “Thank you,” he said, voice going a little husky with desire. “I want....” “But we’ll be late....” “Damn. We have to be so quiet at their place.” “Maybe I should try gagging you.” Karik stuck his tongue out at him. “You’re just a little too fascinated by the idea of tying me up, you know. But you’re right, we’ll be late, and if we don’t hurry, we won’t get a lift, so move.” Romi bowed low. “Yes, your lordship milord Karik sir. You’ve no manners at all, you know.” “None at all. What do you expect from a scientist?” “Not a lot. Come on.” They left the barracks, along with dozens of other soldiers finishing their shift for the day. Romi liked the Darshek barracks a good deal, and though he understood why Karik was making plans for a house of their own a little closer to Kei’s home and Seiki’s, he’d be sorry, in a way, to leave. It had welcomed him and he’d fitted in well, even in the four months since he’d officially taken up his new position. Even Karik said he didn’t really mind living in barracks, though the lack of privacy and the inability to have his parents to stay meant, in the long run, they needed to move. Romi was happy to do whatever made Karik happy, because he already had the two things in life he needed—his lover and his job. They got a lift into the centre of the town, and walked the rest of the way, with still enough daylight that Romi didn’t need to set any sprites before them. There had been a thunderstorm that afternoon which had played merry hell with Karik’s training exercise, but now the rain had gone, though there were still flashes and cracks on the horizon. Romi suspected it would rain again that night. Though it made soldiering a nuisance at times, the farmer’s son in him couldn’t help but have his spirits lifted a little by the scent and taste of rain in the air. Rain meant life, survival— never to be taken for granted, even here on Darshek plain where drought was rarely a problem. He glanced at Karik, saw the contented look on his lover’s face, and knew he too enjoyed the

weather’s gift. Besides, it cooled things down, and in this city, you didn’t take that for granted either. Seiki was there to greet them as she nearly always was, and so was Jes, wildly excited at seeing her Pa, running down the path towards Karik to be swept up into a hug. “Gods, Jes, you’re getting to be such a big girl! Your poor Pa won’t be able to lift you for much longer.” “Romi-Pa can lift me, can’t you?” “You bet, sweetheart.” Romi kissed her cheek, still amused at the nickname she’d gifted him with about a month ago, to everyone’s surprise. “We can always lift you together. Hello, Seiki.” Jes’s mother kissed his cheek, then Karik’s. “Hello, you two. I’m so glad you turned up. Someone’s been bouncing up and down all afternoon because you’re coming over, haven’t you, Jei-chi?” “I only bounced once, Ma-Ma,” Jes corrected sternly. Romi struggled not to grin since Jes had a highly developed sense of dignity and he didn’t want to offend her. She made her father put her down, then took his hand. “Come in now.” “Yes, my lady,” Karik said, his mouth twitching with humour. Seiki just rolled her eyes at Romi and shared a smile with him. Jes was very certain who was in charge in this household. Not even three and a half years’ old, she was queen of all she surveyed. Mila was waiting for them in the kitchen. Karik went to her immediately and took her hands. “Well?” “Yes,” she said, her cheeks dimpling with pleasure. Karik crowed with delight and swung her around. “Oh, wonderful! Ma will be so pleased.” “Ma-Ma, what’s Pa doing?” Seiki bent and picked her daughter up. “Tell you later, darling,” she said, giving Romi a look. He understood—announcing Mila’s pregnancy would have to be handled carefully. Jes tended to be very jealous and protective of her parents, and learning there would be a competitor for their attention would not be received well. But she’d got used to him quickly enough, and she was a sweet-natured child. It would just need things to be done properly. Karik abandoned Mila now, and crouched down in front of his daughter. “Jei-chi, Romi-Pa made you something. Would you like to see it?” She clapped her hands. “Me! Give it to me!” “Manners, daughter mine,” Mila said peacefully, coming up to stand beside her lover. “Ask politely, please.” Jes glanced up. “Um...May I? Please, Pa?” Her mothers nodded in approval, and Karik grinned. “Romi?” Romi knelt to undo his pack, struck by a wave of uncharacteristic uncertainty. He’d never made a child’s toy before, and though Karik had done the fine finishing and assured him it was

good, he really didn’t know if it would appeal to Jes. He’d only started it on a whim, back in AiAlbon as he’d sat talking to Karik’s friend Risa, a new father himself and a skilled wood carver. Risa was already busy making toys for his son, though the child was hardly old enough to play with them, and Romi, left to his own devices a lot of the time while Karik and his parents sorted out their problems with Kei and Arman, had begged to be shown how to do it. Dimly remembered lessons from Romi’s own Pa on how to whittle came back to him, and Risa had shown him how to add hair, joint limbs and finish the wood so it was safe for a child to handle. His first few efforts had been atrocious, but never liking to fail at anything, he’d persisted. Karik gave him tips on how to make the mannequin more lifelike, and finally, he’d produced something that Kei himself had declared ‘very nice’. Once Karik had painted the face, Romi really thought it wasn’t half bad at all, and the hair—finest lemul wool, carefully glued and stitched to resist tugging—certainly looked real. But now he wondered if Jes was ready for such a thing, and if she wouldn’t declare it ugly. She wasn’t one to hold back her views. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, “and put out your hands.” She did so promptly, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and sticking her arms out straight in front of her. Romi laid the doll carefully in her hands. “Now you can look.” She opened her eyes, then her mouth made an ‘O’ as she looked at her prize. “Mine?” “All yours. Do you like it?” She cuddled it to her chest. “Mine,” she said firmly. “I think that’s a ‘yes’,” Mila said with a grin. “Jes, what do you say?” “Thank you, Romi-Pa.” “You’re welcome, Jes,” Romi said gravely, his heart filled with absurd pride at the pleasure of a three-year-old’s approval. Karik knelt down beside Romi. “What are you going to call him, Jei-chi? He’s got to have a name, you know.” “He’s mine,” she said, frowning, as if her father was rather stupid. “Yes, dear. But what’s his name?” She looked at her father, then the doll, still frowning. “I don’t know. Do you know, Pa?” “No, I’m afraid that you’re the only one who knows that. Maybe it’ll come to you. Don’t worry about it, darling,” he said, patting her head. “Jes, bring your doll with you. It’s time for supper,” Seiki said. “Thank you, Romi,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “It’s really lovely.” He was turning into a complete softie, Romi thought, as he sat, eating his supper, and feeling all warm with delight watching the child ‘feeding’ her doll, and talking to it. He’d spent very little time around children, and had, out of necessity, driven all thoughts of being a father out of

his mind. But now, seeing how such a small thing could give Jes so much pleasure, actually watching her learn something directly because of something he had made, trying out new things right there in front of him, was a thrill almost like the first time he’d taken command of a squad. It made him feel a genuine part of this little family, that he had repaid the generous welcome he’d received from them, and even more delighted that Karik had given Mila a sibling for Jes, and a new daughter or son for the two of them. Though he’d never be a father in his own right, he was being allowed a real taste of parenthood, and was grateful. Seiki was watching him with a little smile on her face. “Was I being ‘loud’?” he asked. “No, of course not. You really are part of our family, Romi. Jes keeps talking about her new ‘Pa’—Mila finds it funny, and very sweet.” “I thought you might mind.” Me? Gods no. I’m the last person to stand on convention. Wait until number two arrives— you’ll find ‘fatherhood’ isn’t just a title.” “Looking forward to it. Will Kei be back before she’s due? Does he even know?” “Not yet. Mila said to let Jena tell him when they get to Ai-Albon. She wants him to deliver her like he did Jes, but she’s got plenty of people to look after her until then. Jena’ll enjoy giving him the news.” Romi nodded. Kei and Karik’s Ma had settled their differences, though it had taken the full three weeks they’d been in the village for it to happen. Before that though, there’d been a lot of tension and more than a couple of shouting matches. The marriage of Karik’s friend Gyo to his lovely young cousin, Meran, hadn’t been enough in itself to make peace, and if anything, for a few days it drove the two friends further apart. Romi had kept as far out of it as he could, and so had Karik’s Pa. It was essentially something that Karik, his mother and Kei had had to resolve between them. It had all been very painful, but by the time Karik and Romi left to head south to Romi’s parents, Kei and Jena had finally made up. When they’d got back to Darshek, Kei had been much happier, and Karik confirmed with his father that things were back to something approaching normal. But it had been a serious and distressing breach, and Romi guessed that Seiki thought as he did, that anything which increased the stock of goodwill between the two friends, could only be a good thing. After supper Jes was put to bed, and the four of them could speak freely about Mila’s news. She was thinking, she said, that the house would need another room eventually. “Or we could move, but I’d hate to do that. I love this house,” she said, squeezing Seiki’s hand. “There are others just as nice, darling,” Seiki said, giving Mila a sweet smile. “But Jena and Reji will probably stay with Karik and Romi once they have their own place, and your mother could too, at a pinch. It’ll work out.” “How will Jes react?” Karik asked, pouring himself some more tea.

“I really don’t know,” Mila said. “But I expect she’ll get over it even if she’s upset. Of course, you being away so soon after won’t help.” “Sorry, Mila, but we really do have to go to Andon next year. It’s only going to be for three months, and only to Tsikiugui. No chance of us getting lost again.” “You better not,” Seiki said sternly. “I don’t think any of us can stand that kind of strain any time soon.” “Have Kei and Arman arrived in Utuk yet?” Romi asked. “Not yet. I’ll let you know when they do. I half wish I’d been able to go, though it really would have been impossible. Neka’s still in two minds about whether she should have gone or not.” “I think she was right not to,” Karik said. “She’s needed here—and if something happened to her and Kei....” “We’d never recover,” Seiki said, her expression sombre. “Gods, I hope their journey goes well. Boats make me so nervous.” “Jera’s with them, they’ll be fine,” Karik said. “And it’s a very safe run.” “I’m more worried about Utuk,” Mila said darkly. “I’ve heard such terrible stories about the war.” “That was a long time ago,” Romi pointed out. “Arman was satisfied it was safe. You know he’d never risk Kei.” “No. But that won’t stop me worrying.” “I’ll just be glad when they both come back and everyone stops wandering off,” Seiki said, sounding slightly cross. “Jes was complaining about Kei going away so much, and I don’t blame her.” “It’s just been a bad few months,” Karik said, not without a guilty glance at Romi. “But this trip’ll do a lot of good for the country. I just wish we’d had more warning—it would have been such an opportunity to recruit. Arman said he’d do his best for us, but it’s our job, not his.” “My job, Karik,” Romi corrected gently. “You’re just staff.” That got him a poke in the ribs from his lover. “It’s true, you know that.” “Huh. Then I guess you’ll be sleeping in the ordinary bunks from now on. Can’t have the captain sleeping with his staff, can we?” Karik was perfectly capable of carrying out this threat if provoked. “I only meant, beloved,” he said, as Mila and Seiki grinned at them, “that your job is to be the brains, and my job is the man management. Recruitment’s my responsibility.” “I have to work with them, and besides, how would you know if someone could do a survey properly?” “I’d just throw them at you and make you fix them. That’s your job.”

“Huh. See what I have to put up with?” Karik said, appealing to their companions. “Isn’t he an oaf?” “He’s a perfect darling,” Mila said. “And I haven’t thanked you yet for that toy—it was wonderful, wasn’t it, Seiki?” “It really was. I’ve never seen a doll that well made. I can see we’ll keep you busy,” she said, grinning at his embarrassed pleasure. “Karik, you never said Romi was so talented with his hands.” “Oh? I could have sworn I mentioned it. I know I put them to good use.” “You know,” Romi said, glaring at him as the women giggled knowingly, “I think I preferred it when you were all shy and innocent about sex.” “Innocent? With Kei as my uncle? You must be thinking of someone else, Romi-Pa.” Though he and Karik had the next day off so they could spend it with Mila and Jes, no one wanted to sit up late since they’d all been on the go since early that morning. Once safe in Mila and Seiki’s tiny third bedroom, Karik was very eager to prove how much he wasn’t shy or innocent about sex any more, and indeed, Romi was finally forced to stuff his hand into his noisy lover’s mouth as he came. He pulled Karik down on top of him, ignoring the mess between them. “You’re becoming more uninhibited than is good for you,” he scolded, then licked the sweat from under Karik’s jaw where it trickled down. “Lucky me,” he added with a grin. “Sticky you, you mean,” Karik said, pouting at being hauled into the evidence of Romi’s pleasure. “Let me up,” he insisted, though only after winning another kiss. Romi lay back and let Karik do the clean up for a change. “I’m so happy for Mila,” Karik said quietly, wiping Romi’s stomach with a thoughtful expression. “I just wish pregnancy wasn’t so dangerous.” “You said she’s strong and healthy, and there was no problem with Jes. Kei will be back, and you know he’s the best there is at childbirth.” “Best at everything, I think. I’m going to be a father again. Feels very strange.” “We both are, in a way.” “Yes, Romi-Pa.” Karik tossed the cloth into the basin and set it aside. “Is it enough for you?” Romi clasped him firmly and tugged him down on top of him again. “More than enough. All I want is you. The rest is a bonus. I’m enjoying things as they are.” “Good.” Karik snuggled close, as Romi put out his fire sprites, leaving them in silent darkness. Soon Karik’s breathing changed, and the weight of his body altered subtly, so Romi knew he was falling asleep. He wouldn’t be far behind him, but as he slipped into the half world between sleep and wakefulness, he had a vision of himself as a father, dandling his son on his knee, being called ‘Pa’ and teaching him the ways of life just as his own father had taught him.

“‘d be nice,” he muttered sleepily, then curled closer around his sleeping lover and between one heartbeat and the next, he was off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Well, this is familiar,” Kei muttered as they stood on the deck in the brilliant sunshine, waiting for the royal barge to make its way across the water towards their ship, ready to take them to the dock for the official reception and a formal lunch. Once more they stood with troops behind them, Arman on one side, Lord Peika on the other, and Jera there to protect them. Only this time, as Arman had pointed out at dinner the night before, they came not as prisoners, not as victors, but as equals. This was a mission to solidify a peace already made, not a peace yet to be won. Arman squeezed Kei’s hand as he peered hawkishly across the water. Lord Peika, his wife, and Jera were perfectly relaxed, looking as if they quite enjoyed things, but Kei simply couldn’t be that sanguine. The next hour or so would either prove Arman right or disastrously wrong, and only Jera and their soldiers stood between them and the might of the Prijian army and navy. So far, things had gone nicely—a smooth trip, a polite reception in the harbour, with generous supplies of fresh food and water ferried to them along with his Serenity’s compliments and an invitation to the formal reception this morning. Two senior palace officials had come to present the invitation, and had stayed to share supper in the captain’s cabin, an assurance, unspoken, that the donated food was quite safe to eat. Such an assurance was not merely for show, or at least, it once would not have been. No one really knew if the new sovereign was more honourable than his predecessor, though the indications were promising. Nivuman was an unknown quantity, even to many of his subjects. He’d been a compromise candidate, plucked from the obscurity of his country estate on the strength of a distant familial connection with the ruling family and hastily installed after the assassination of the previous sovereign, and doubtless many might have thought him a pliable and easily manipulated puppet. This had not proved to be the case, to the delight of some and the displeasure of others. So far, Arman’s father and brother had been cautiously impressed, and Tijus had been elevated to one of the inner councillors, not without some trepidation on his family’s part. It wasn’t always a good thing to be an intimate of the sovereign, as the brief but bloody uprising five years before had demonstrated. Lord Peika was curious to meet the man. Kei would be simply glad to get out of the country alive and with all his limbs intact. The Darshianese delegation wasn’t a small one—they had two hundred troops with them, and thirty people from the Rulers’ officers and the academy, not including Kei and Arman themselves. However, only he, Jera, the Rulers and Lord Peika’s wife, Veta, would go across to dry land this morning, accompanied by fifty of the troops. It would be expected, Arman said. Too

small a display would be seen as either contempt or stupidity. Too large, of course, could be seen as a threat. The negotiations over protocol had made Kei’s brain hurt, and he’d only been involved peripherally. Even the exact clothing he wore now—a brand new shirt, jerkin and trousers, though not his Master’s robes since he was there this morning as consort, not Master—had been settled in advance. Naturally, Arman looked absolutely splendid in his crimson Ruler’s robes, a rarely seen chain and medallion—a gift from the king and council of Andon—adorning his neck, while an exquisite silver clasp that Meda had made for him as a birthday present was fastened to the end of his braid. He looked magnificent, and betrayed not an iota of the anxiety Kei could feel pulsing through him. The barge was within hailing distance now and a polite exchange was carried out before Arman and Lord Peika were formally requested to step on board the barge. Jera floated all of them down onto the barge’s deck, while the troops were loaded in more mundane fashion into the longboat to follow behind them. The Rulers were greeted with low bows, and Veta graciously escorted to a cushioned seat. There was a slight delay until the long boat had been filled and was ready to go, and then the barge was set in motion. “Could have flown us across,” Jera whispered. “Much faster.” “I think you probably scare them,” Kei whispered back out the side of his mouth, keeping a serene expression on his face. The barge was very luxurious, for sure, and the dozen oarsmen had them moving fairly swiftly towards the docks. Kei remembered the docks very clearly and with no fondness. He really hoped he could put his fears about this city to rest on this visit, but the fluttering in his gut simply would not stop. Arman seemed lost in his thoughts. Kei didn’t want to interrupt them, but he already hated this, and wondered why on earth he’d agreed. Oh...it had been his suggestion. Silly him. As they drew close to the pier, a blast of martial music startled him, but it was simply a welcome from the Prij. They were led, again with almost painful courtesy, up the ramp, and discovered quite a crowd of people waiting for them, some in elaborate senatorial robes, all obviously of high rank. These were the great and the good, doubtless meaning to bring lustre to the occasion, though Kei couldn’t help a painful flashback to his first arrival in Utuk as a tired, heartsick, rope-bound prisoner, being displayed to an arrogant mob. Arman laid an apparently guiding hand on his shoulder, the discreet pressure meant to comfort. Kei pulled his courage together and smiled. Smiles were good. A senator stepped forward, and to Kei’s unutterable relief, he recognised Arman’s brother. Tijus bowed low, smiling broadly. “His Serenity sends warm greetings and regards to the illustrious Rulers of Darshek. He welcomes you to our country, as indeed do I.” Lord Peika grinned—he and Tijus had become friends on Tijus’s few visits, and they were much alike in many ways. “The Rulers and people of Darshek and of Darshian thank his Serenity for his graciousness, and for the kind welcome. Senator, I believe you know my companions.”

Tijus winked at Kei. “Yes indeed, and you are thrice welcome.” He bowed to Veta, and greeted her, then held out his hand. “Brother? Or should I call you Sei General Lord Arman?” “Only if you want to be spanked,” Arman muttered in a voice intended only for the immediate circle. He clasped his brother’s hand and shook it. “Greetings, brother. Is our father well?” “Well and delighted that you’ve come to Kuprij once more. Kei, how good to see you again.” “And you, Tijus. More than you know,” he added in a low voice. “Ah. His Serenity thought you might like a familiar face or two. Arman, you recall my companions?” Introductions were made, then Tijus invited them to step into an elegant calash. By now, the Darshianese troops had landed, and were asked to form an honour guard directly behind the vehicle, before their party was driven at walking pace up the Avenue of the Gods, Prijian troops ahead of them, the senators and their ladies in calashes behind them. Kei was surprised to see they were expected by the populace lining the avenue and watching curiously, even cheering from time to time. “Why isn’t anyone throwing anything?” Kei muttered, smiling graciously all the while. “Things have changed, my dear Kei. A lot of these people have your soldiers to thank for their homes being saved along with their lives. I’m not saying there isn’t resentment—but there’s more goodwill than you’d think.” Tijus shrugged and grinned. “Besides, everyone likes a show, and it’s a decreed day of rest in your honour. People like that.” Canny. A little bribery, a little entertainment, and a lot of curiosity. He wondered how many of the people watching them had seen the show the Gifted had put on for the populace on their last visit, and were hoping for more of the same. It made him wish they’d brought Reis and Neras after all, but Arman and Neka had decided that they weren’t the best people they could send on a delicate diplomatic mission. Jera was a much more stable and genial person. Right now, he looked completely harmless, and clearly just enjoying himself. Kei didn’t know Utuk well—he’d had little enough chance to see it—but it seemed to him there were changes. There were statues he didn’t remember, a couple of buildings which looked new or at least, newly refurbished, but what struck him most was the lack of underlying anger in the people around him. The first time he’d encountered it, the population of Utuk had felt almost like a carcho waiting to pounce, though he had hardly been in a fit state to really appreciate all that had been going on. After victory had been won, there had been a dull resentment of the Darshianese, punctuated by fury and overlain by a general hostility which might not, Kei now realised, have been entirely directed at them. The war had not been popular—too many ordinary people’s sons, brothers and fathers had been caught up in it. Many of those men had come home, of course—but many had not.

It had been long-held, slow-burning anger over that, but more so over rising unemployment and the ever-increasing taxes to pay for pointless extravagance, which had played into deliberately fomented agitation and had led to vicious riots and the assassination of the sovereign. Utuk had taken years to fully calm and stabilise. That it had done so at all had certainly not been thanks to the now departed Senator Mekus, who’d been behind an attempt to assassinate the new sovereign in order to put his granddaughter on the throne, and to stir up more unrest in a city still smoking and bloodied from months of rioting. Still, Utuk, and indeed Kuprij, had been peaceful for some time now, and it appeared that peace was not purely artificial. Problems remained, and Kei was under no illusion he was visiting a just or equal society. But Nivuman seemed wedded to rule by law rather than force, and that made him someone Kei wished success upon, at least as a governor of this country. For the rest— he would wait and see. Though Arman had relaxed considerably for the presence of his brother, and they and Lord Peika chatted amiably about nothing much at all, Arman was actually watching the crowd as closely as he would watch any enemy. Since he clearly detected no threat, Kei could trust to his judgment and also relax. Jera’s presence helped, no doubt about it, but without Neka, they wouldn’t have any early warning of trouble. Kei’s own gift was about all they had in that regard —but he sensed nothing untoward. The crowd wasn’t being especially warm, but it was a long way from the jeering and arrogance Kei had experienced the first time. Their journey took twenty minutes, though it couldn’t have been a mile from the docks to the palace. At the royal residence, the gates swung open smartly and they were ushered in without the slightest challenge. Kei couldn’t help remembering the hostility of their last arrival, and the angry (and probably long dead) senator who’d blustered so. Also dead, perhaps thankfully, was Arman’s former superior, Blikus. Time didn’t heal all wounds, but it did heal some. As those with the greatest hate died or lost influence, things were bound to change. They were conducted to a large courtyard, and only when all the calashes had arrived and the nobility had disembarked, were Kei and his companions invited to descend, to a flare of horns and thudding of huge drums. He knew what that meant, and looked towards the large brass and wood door, now being swung slowly open. Sure enough, through it came a figure dressed in long, full robes, followed by a dozen courtiers. More horns, then the crowd fell entirely silent. Arman and Lord Peika walked toward the sovereign, Tijus at their side. This, Kei knew, had also been the subject of intense discussion. The correct form when meeting the Prijian sovereign was to kneel—but the Darshianese bent the knee to no man. The correct form in greeting a Ruler was to bow—but the sovereign bowed to no one, since they did not acknowledge there being anyone of higher rank anywhere in Periter. As Kei watched, the agreed compromise was perfectly—and gracefully—executed. Arman and Lord Peika bowed politely, as if to one of their own, and the sovereign acknowledged it with a slight bend of his head, as one senator would greet another. Honour served, all three men relaxed.

Kei, Jera and Veta could now approach. The sovereign was a man of about his own age, or perhaps Arman’s, short, slightly balding, with intelligent green eyes set in a deceptively ordinary face. Passed in a crowd, he would excite no attention at all, and though he stood straight and proud, there was no arrogance about him. Veta curtseyed—she’d been practicing—and the sovereign held out his hand. “My dear lady,” he said in perfectly clear, pleasantly accented Darshianese. “Welcome to Kuprij.” “Thank you, your highness. I am very glad to be here.” He smiled, then turned to Kei. Arman was behind him. “Your highness, allow me to present Master Kei of Darshek and Ai-Albon.” “Ah, Master Kei, what a delight. I ordered copies of your paper on timkir leaf oil to be placed in our library, and studied most carefully. I believe it will be of great use in developing a stronger resin for boat caulking.” Kei blinked, before remembering his manners and bowing hastily. “Your highness honours me.” “Nonsense, we’re honoured to have such a scholar among us. Though I wasn’t aware you were interested in the commercial application of plants so much as their healing properties.” The man was staring at him intently. “Your highness, I discovered the properties of the timkir oil while looking for a better wound suture. Such is the nature of investigations.” “Yes, I know. I look forward to talking to you further about your work. Lord Arman, would you introduce this other gentleman, please?” Arman cleared his throat. “Your highness, this is Jera, one of our Gifted citizens.” Jera bowed on cue, then straightened and smiled at the sovereign, quite unabashed. Kei could feel the curiosity rolling off the man. “So, you are one of the magicians of Darshian, sir?” For the first time, Jera looked a little taken aback. “No magician, your highness. I just...do things.” “Oh, care to demonstrate?” Jera glanced helplessly at Kei. “Uh...well, like this.” One of the calashes—complete with all four jesigs—rose slowly into the air. The jesigs squealed a little in fright, but Jera controlled them so they couldn’t move. Gasps of astonishment came from the crowd—but from the sovereign, only more curiosity. He waved his hand to indicate that this was quite enough for now, thank you, and the calash was lowered carefully once more. Jera was still controlling the animals—very wise of him, Kei thought. “How wonderful to have such power,” the sovereign said, almost conversationally, then turned to Arman. “Of course, I remember a somewhat more impressive display twenty years ago, down on the harbour. As do you, no doubt.”

Arman was completely calm—at least outwardly—as he answered. “Yes, your highness. Jera was with us that day too. He was the one who lifted the statue of Lord Niko.” “Ah. Made quite an impression. That was an achievement, Sei Lord Arman—to end a war without the loss of a single civilian life, and with honour. However, we shall speak no more of those days, because we are at peace, and earnestly wish to remain so. Madam, do me the favour of accompanying me inside? Senator, please, bring everyone? We have people waiting to meet you all.” And then he walked Veta in as if she was a Ruler herself, and he but her humble attendant. Kei followed behind them, shocked to his core. He’d met the previous sovereign. She’d have no more offered her arm to a Darshianese than she would have eaten it raw, and as for chatting politely and knowledgably about timkir oil.... He sensed Arman was equally surprised. Lord Peika was rather pleased with everything, and Jera mainly radiated relief, presumably at not having been told off for causing such a fuss the last time he’d been in town. “Are you sure he’s Prijian?” Kei muttered as Arman took his arm politely, as a good spouse should, to lead him into the palace. “Blond hair, green eyes, think so. Shhh.” “But he’s nice!” “He’s also on home territory and with a point to prove. Be quiet and smile, please,” Arman said, doing just that and bowing slightly to someone he appeared to recognise. And still no one threw anything. Amazing. Dazed and wondered if he was dreaming the whole thing, Kei followed Arman’s lead—and the sovereign’s—through the imposing, heavily ornamented hallways, until they came to a pair of massive, brass-bound and studded doors. A brief delay, and then armour-bearing soldiers opened the doors as another harsh, warlike fanfare was sounded. The sovereign, still leading Lord Peika’s wife, stepped through, and Kei and Arman followed. The sight before him dazzled him—sun poured through the large glass windows onto gilt and gold and silver, while elaborate jewellery sparkled and glinted wherever he looked, almost blinding him. The colours overwhelmed too—bright Andonese gemcloth on the women, and vast, intricately made pictures on the walls, all formed a kaleidoscopic effect. It was a real effort to restrain himself from shading his eyes like a provincial. Even before he could adjust, his ears were deafened by a sudden rush of sustained and apparently genuine applause from what seemed like hundreds of hands. He sensed, rather than saw, Arman bowing, and hastily followed his lead. When he stood again, he realised that the gathering was not quite as large as it first appeared, though there were at least a hundred people in the room, not including the guests and the guards. He smiled appeasingly, and wondered what this titled elite made of their little group, but he wasn’t given time to stare for long. A polite servant directed him and the others to a row of highly ornate, high-backed chairs, behind a long table. The sovereign, naturally, sat on the most

impressive chair in the centre of the row—a throne, Kei supposed—and Veta was taken to sit at her husband’s side. The sovereign seemed quite content for the applause to die down of its own accord, and though he did nothing to encourage it, it went on for some time. When it finally ended, his highness stood again. “We thank you for your patience, good senators and ladies. Allow me to present their lordships Peika and Sei Arman of Darshian, and their gracious companions, Veta, Kei and Jera. Many of you will remember Sei General Arman and the role he played in bringing peace between our two countries. We welcome his return to Kuprij as one of its most illustrious sons.” Kei stared in astonishment. Last time he’d sat in this palace, Arman had been treated with utter contempt and labelled a filthy traitor. Most illustrious son? He discreetly poked a finger in his ear—no, his hearing was fine. Arman sent him an impatient look to make him stop, so he did. But it didn’t stop his surprise. The sovereign spoke for a little longer, welcoming the group, and talking of the many discussions that he hoped would occur while they were in residence. Lord Peika stood and thanked the sovereign for his kind welcome, extending the warm wishes of the Darshianese nation towards the people of Kuprij. Several senators rose to make speeches, something Kei could have done without—he was hungry, and desperately wanted to speak to his lover about the whole incredible situation. But finally speechmaking came to an end, and socialising and the meal could both begin. Another Darshianese was led to the high table to sit with them. Kei recognised ambassador Yuko —a personal friend to all of them, and greeted with real delight. It felt almost like a normal dinner in the Rulers’ House, and when the food arrived, Kei felt even more at home. Someone had read up on Darshianese taste, and instead of the over-rich, over-sauced fare he’d been forced to endure last time, this was the kind of simple stuff he would have eaten in his own house. They were even served water and juice, rather than wine, which he’d thought they never did in this land. He risked a glance at the sovereign—and found the sovereign looking steadily back. The man lifted a goblet in salute. “I trust this is to your taste, Master Kei?” “I’m sure it is, your highness. It looks delicious.” The sovereign smiled and bowed his head a little, then turned to talk to his companion. But Kei was under no illusion that the Darshianese weren’t still being carefully observed, however obliquely. Yuko was as pleased to see them as they were to see him, but he had yet another surprise to deliver. “There was, ah, some discussion about where you would all stay, my lords,” he said, grinning at some private joke. “Naturally, his Serenity extended the hospitality of the palace to you, but in his graciousness, suggested you may be more comfortable at the embassy.” This puzzled Kei—nothing had been mentioned about accommodation and he’d assumed they’d be

guests of the Prij. “However...another offer has been made which might be even more acceptable. I leave the decision to you.” Arman frowned with what Kei sensed was genuine annoyance. “Yuko, what in hells are you...Father!” Arman blinked, his mouth open in shock. Kei jerked at the sudden switch in his lover’s emotions, then looked to where Arman was staring. And indeed it was Senator Armis himself, walking slowly and with immense dignity towards them, his twenty-year-old grandson, Tije, in attendance. Arman clambered to his feet, and disregarding all protocol, left the high table and rushed to meet his father, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. His father looked sternly disapproving, but placed one hand on Arman’s bright hair and quietly said something. Kei looked to his side and found Tijus grinning like a fool. Even the sovereign was hiding a smirk politely behind his hand. “He’ll wring your neck,” he whispered to Tijus. “Maybe, but it was worth it. Besides, dear Kei—symbolism. Potent symbolism. Arman is one of ours as well as one of yours, and his Serenity wants that kept very firmly in front of people’s minds, at least while you’re all here.” Kei sighed. This kind of thing was beyond him—he left the politics to Arman and his assistants. He was just a humble healer, and not up to these games. Arman led his father and nephew up to Nivuman, where all of them bowed, Tije kneeling in the correct manner, though his grandfather was clearly unable to do so. The sovereign stood and spoke to them all quietly, then, smiling graciously, indicated that they too should join the high table. It was more and more Darshianese with every passing moment, Kei thought, shaking his head, as he stood to greet his lover’s father. “Sir, it’s a blessing to see you again,” he said, bowing low. “Oh, don’t bow to me, young man,” Senator Armis said, though he smiled. “But find me a chair, would you? We’ve been kept waiting while you people did your hand shaking and flag waving. Ah, Arman, you didn’t mention that we’d have the pleasure of your friend’s company once again.” For some reason, Jera blushed bright red, his embarrassment a solid wave rolling off him. “Ah, about that, sir...um....” “Oh, never mind, never mind,” the senator said, waving his hand. “Water under the bridge. Holding grudges for twenty years is a habit I’m trying to get out of, isn’t that right, Arman?” Arman only lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “As you say, Father. Tije, your grandfather’s chair. Thank you.” Once the senator was seated, he sat back and put his hands on his cane, looking severely at everyone, until his gaze lit on Kei. “I think I owe you an apology, Kei. These nitwits knew what was happening, but I don’t suppose anyone bothered to keep you informed.” “Father, I didn’t know either,” Arman said, clearly trying not to grin.

“No, but you should have. Anyway, you can share your brother’s guilt. I trust you’re well, Kei?” “Yes, sir. Very well, very pleased to see you again. How is Tir Mari?” The old man banged his cane a little in emphasis. “In a tizz, my boy, in a tizz, but otherwise in perfect health. I presume you’re all coming back to the house, hmmm? Well, your lordships?” “Er, of course, Senator,” Lord Peika said hastily. “Uh...but there are rather a lot of us....” “Not all of you—just the related ones and a dozen or so of their closest friends. You’re not implying my hospitality isn’t up to it, I hope?” “Not at all, sir. My wife and I would be delighted to accept.” “Actually, Peika,” Tijus said with a polite cough, “Temir and I were very much hoping you might consent to come to us. With Father’s permission of course.” His father waved impatiently at the pair of them. “Do as you wish, your lordship. I predict Mari will have more than enough to amuse her. Now, if we’ve settled our domestic arrangements, I wish to hear all the important news. Arman, you begin.” For all his apprehension, it turned out to be one of the more enjoyable meals of Kei’s experience, and though it was still more formal than he was used to, by Prijian standards, it was almost as casual as eating from a food stand in the market. Senators and other personages came up and introduced themselves, joined the conversation briefly and left, expressing a wish for more prolonged contact in the future. The sovereign also joined in, inviting Kei with Tije at his side, to come to him and discuss Kei’s recent work. They spoke in Darshianese, Kei pleased to find Arman’s nephew following the conversation easily. He was even more pleased—and surprised—to learn the sovereign had a keen interest in botany, being something of an amateur expert on the subject, and on the domestication of wild birds for commercial use. He had, he said, a large collection and was sponsoring several breeding projects on Kuplik. “If there were time, I would invite you to my own estate, Master Kei. I fancy it would be of some small interest to someone like you.” “It would be fascinating, your highness, I’m sure. I would invite you to visit our research garden in Darshek, if it didn’t breach protocol—I’m a dunce about such matters, I’m afraid.” “Hardly,” the man said dryly. “But sadly I think it won’t happen for some time, if at all, for while there are eight who rule in Darshek, there is only one sovereign of Kuprij, and my country rightly demands that I grace it with my presence. However, there are those who can go and learn in my place, and bring back that knowledge and share it with the rest of us—and then, through this academy, we can teach and share with even more, perhaps even returning the favour. Perhaps one day soon, our fine young people like this fellow here,” he said with a smile at Tije, “won’t have to travel to Urshek and Darshek, and instead will learn all they need to right here in Utuk. We lag behind you Darshianese for now, Master Kei—but one day, we will be your betters once more.”

The smile and mild tone took any offence out of his words, and indeed, Kei was all for intellectual battles if they removed the necessity for military ones. “It’s a competition in which I would gladly engage, your highness, but your citizens are welcome at my academy, and always will be if I have any say. Our Prijian students and teachers are fine additions to our corps.” “I’m glad to hear it, Master Kei. Unfortunately, you don’t always hand them back, and I see a future for our country in which our finest minds are needed and used. If they settle in Darshian, then that won’t happen, will it?” He was on dangerous ground here, but familiar ground for all that. “A valid point, your highness. But since some of the people who remain are female, and thus unvalued by your society, I don’t know that Kuprij has lost more than it throws away in the first place.” The sovereign didn’t reply, but instead stared at him with disconcertingly sharp eyes. Kei strove for calm, wondering if he’d stepped over the line. He couldn’t sense anger, but some people were adept at hiding their feelings even from themselves. Beside him, young Tije sat ramrod straight, and seemed to have picked up on the fact that the conversation had become suddenly serious. It wasn’t just Tijus’s neck that would get wrung if Kei dragged his boy into a political row. But the sovereign only sat back and sighed a little. “It is, as you imply, a regret, Master Kei, that half our population should be so underused intellectually. My esteemed predecessor, may her name be forever blessed, naturally proved that women could and do rule, but her reign perhaps did not advance the cause of female education as one might wish in an ideal world. Things are changing, Master Kei, albeit slowly. I advise you to watch us and note what we are doing, and, I trust, you will give me the benefit of your honest views once you have done so.” Kei bowed his head. “I should endeavour to do that, your highness. I meant no offence.” “None taken. You deal in facts, and you spoke of one, however unpalatable. It is not, I caution you, a popular topic among certain members of the ruling classes. But more, perhaps, support your views than you think.” “I hope so, your highness.” Another benign smile. “Good. Now, I’ve monopolised your time long enough, and I’m sure you and Sei Arman are tired after your journey. In a few minutes I’ll leave, which will set you all free, and we can start these formalities again tomorrow. I’ve been assured that you will be taken to see the academy then.” “Thank you, your highness.” “And thank you, Master Kei.” The sovereign turned to Arman’s nephew. “Sei Tije, your family has served this country long and faithfully for many years. I expect great things of you.” “Thank you, your highness,” Tije said, a blush staining his cheeks and reminding Kei strongly of Karik.

The sovereign smiled again, and dismissed them. Kei was glad to be released, because manoeuvrings at that level were just not his thing at all. Arman looked at him with concern as he took his seat with a deep sigh of relief. “Are you all right?” “Oh, fine, fine—could someone to wake me up when this is all over? Because I’m certainly dreaming all this, aren’t I?” “Yes, of course you are, my love,” Arman said, patting his hand, then turned back to listen to what the new arrival at their table was saying. His food had gone cold, but he was hungry enough not to care, and it was the kind of plain food that didn’t need to be piping hot to have any taste. He was too busy thinking about what the sovereign had said to be concerned with mere food anyway. Was he serious? Was he really planning to promote female education, in the face of hundreds of years of ignorance and ‘tradition’? If anyone could, surely this man could—a man who greeted the so-called enemy like brothers, who welcomed and publicly blessed a supposed traitor and complimented him to the rest of his caste. A man who talked without arrogance or pretence to a complete stranger, and who offered honesty instead of politics. Either Nivuman would be Kuprij’s greatest sovereign in a hundred years—or someone would make another serious attempt to get rid of him before he changed too many things. But the middle of a state reception was not the place to make this observation to Arman. It was only after the lengthy meal was done, and they had all decamped to Arman’s father’s house, been greeted ecstatically by Mari and Temir, and finally allowed the privacy of their own room, that Kei could finally speak his mind about this. He did so as his lover helped him bathe in the disgustingly unhygienic contraption that the Prij used for this purpose. Arman was silent for a few moments as he considered his response. Kei concentrated on scrubbing the salt off his skin and out of his hair, and wished for a genuine Darshianese bath. They had them at the embassy, he recalled mournfully, though he didn’t begrudge Arman the time with his father in the least. At last Arman nodded. “From what Father and Tijus have said to me, not just now but in the past, Nivuman is actually a very cautious man. He’s made significant changes, but he’s been careful to do them in areas which don’t excite much emotion or in a manner which doesn’t do so, and always with a complete lack of flamboyance. Which is why I was taken aback by what happened today—it’s not characteristic in the least.” “So why? It was a dangerous thing to do, wasn’t it?” Arman poured fresh water carefully down Kei’s braid, and wrung it out before answering. “Not as much as it appears at first. That wasn’t a random selection of senators today. They were handpicked, all supporters. The procession, I grant you, was more of a risk, but as Tijus said, the temperature is very different from what it was six or seven years ago, or even four years ago. He will have judged that very carefully, or we’d have been whisked to the palace in complete anonymity.” “I still don’t know why he wants us here at all.”

“Because he needs the Darshianese and he knows it, and he wants the Prijian people to know it—not just our army, but our education and our teachers. This academy might be the most important thing any sovereign has done for Kuprij, and it’s mightily overdue.” Kei was finished, and stepped awkwardly out of the stupid bath. Arman handed him a drying cloth, then rang the bell for more water—it really was a most inconvenient business. At least Kei didn’t have to do the water fetching this time. “He said he thinks one day it’ll overtake the Darshek academy.” “It might well do, but I won’t cry if it does. I’m only sorry Karus didn’t live to see it. It was one of his dreams, you know. He would be very pleased by this sovereign.” “Perhaps he’s reborn here and about to be one of the new students,” Kei said, smiling to cheer his lover’s slightly gloomy thoughts. “Nivuman went to astonishing lengths to make us feel welcome, don’t you think?” Arman smiled wryly. “Ah, well, that was partly just his own innate courtesy. Kita was a dreadfully rude woman, and cared not a whit for anyone’s comfort but her own. I got the impression Nivuman runs his palace like he runs his estate, and if his estate is anything like Father’s, then serving food that his guests would enjoy is simply what he would do anyway.” He took over towelling Kei’s hair for him. “But he was also saying—to his carefully invited group— that change can occur without pain, and without the Prijian state being threatened. The aristocracy already uses Darshianese healers and tutors—I wouldn’t be the least surprised if Darshianese cooks suddenly became fashionable after today.” “And that can only be a good thing,” Kei said fervently. “I tell you, I don’t know why all your nobles don’t drop dead at forty from the diet they eat. It’s not good for them in the slightest.” “Some do, of course. Unfortunately, not those one might wish did.” He paused in the towelling. “Father looks well, doesn’t he?” Kei sensed the anxiety. “He looks very well indeed. I’m not his healer, but I’d gladly speak to them about his health. I’d be surprised if there was anything wrong with him other than his age and his arthritis.” “He just seems rather...frail. Like Karus was, just before—” “Not to me,” he said firmly. “He’s troubled by his hip somewhat, but his colour is good, his mind is alert, and he seems otherwise vigorous. My love,” he said, pulling Arman in for a kiss, and then putting his arms around him. “He is seventy-one, and he’s getting older. But no faster than anyone else, not that I can see.” “It was...when I saw him again, I just.... Damn it, I miss the old man so much sometimes,” he whispered against Kei’s ear. “Then tell him that. I know he’ll grump and call you a fool and tell you not to be sentimental...but tell him. Because he loves you and misses you too. He was so pleased to see you

today—it radiated off him. Pleased and proud as anything. Say it and bear the grumbling, and know that you didn’t miss this chance.” “Like I did with Karus, you mean.” Kei looked into Arman’s sad eyes. “No. You didn’t miss any chances with Karus. Karus knew you loved him, and you knew he loved you. He died with you in his thoughts and in his heart. You can give the same gift to your father—let him know that he is there with you, even when he finally has to go. But I think that’ll still be some time from now. Karus was a lot older at seventy than your father is.” “We’re long-lived,” Arman murmured. “So everyone tells me.” “Better be,” Kei said sternly. “Because I’m counting on it.” He tugged Arman’s braid. “Now, get on with your job. My hair is serious business, I’ve told you that before.” “Yes, sir, Master Kei. How could I forget my position so?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ They stayed for three weeks, and Kei would have gladly stayed a month longer, so useful and enjoyable had the mission turned out to be. The opening of the new academy would be one of the fondest memories of his life. The building wasn’t new, but had been greatly extended, with one of Utuk’s finest architects commissioned to design a place of grace, of grandeur and of welcome. A piously respectful place as well, with statues of the Prijian gods prominently positioned outside the building, but Kei understood that too sent the message that the deities would bless the endeavours within it. The ceremony itself was a showpiece of Prijian culture, with a long but enjoyable display of singing and classical dance, and speeches from the new Masters and the sovereign. There was also a long blessing with the regrettable sacrifice of a black lemul, but it seemed to be the expected thing, and there was no doubt that having the favour of the priests would stand the academy in good stead. Kei was the main guest of honour, slightly to his surprise, and fêted like he was royalty, which embarrassed him no end. He ended up giving the inaugural lecture in a huge and exquisitely decorated auditorium, to an audience of over a thousand, people squeezing into every available space, even sitting on the floor—men and women alike, and from all classes since it was declared open to all. His decision to speak in carefully rehearsed Prijian was greeted with enthusiastic applause. The topic of his speech had been left entirely up to him, so he’d decided to talk about why he’d become a healer and why he felt healers had such an important role in society. He spoke of the quest for knowledge which drove him, which had driven his parents—of the patients they could save now, that in his youth might have died, and of the patients they lost now but would, he knew, be saved in the future by the discoveries made by people in the audience in front of him. He told them of how even the simplest observations could lead to important discoveries, and that the finest instruments a scientist owned were their eyes and their mind. “And never forget this, all of you who hear me today,” he said, concluding his speech. “A healer heals the injured and the sick. We do not kill. We do not heal only those whose colour suits us best, or whose politics. We don’t ask, can this patient pay us? We don’t draw out suffering to increase our fee. We only heal, by the grace of all those healers and researchers and teachers before us, and our own humanity and skill. Sometimes we can only offer a peaceful death, but in that we heal too, because we give the family and friends ease from their fear and their sorrow, knowing their loved one passed safely and with kindness. But in everything we do, everything we try, everything we say to our patients and their kin—let this be the guiding

principle. We heal. We do not harm. May your gods guide your hand and your hearts, my friends.” The applause went on for nearly ten minutes, and Kei, well used as he was to public speaking and lecturing, was reduced to tongue-tied pleasure by the response. Disrespectful man that he was, Arman said it was the quietest Kei had been in twenty years. He was invited to give three further lectures which he gladly agreed to, and the personnel he’d brought with him were fully occupied advising everyone from teachers to librarians. Some agreed to remain and continue that advice, and Kei promised to send further assistance as soon as he got back to Darshek. The academy was headed for a brilliant future, and with the patronage of the crown and many of the nobility, it would be a great success. That it was intended to reach out to all levels of society had not gone unnoticed by the Prij or the Darshianese. In one of several private meetings he, Arman and Lord Peika had with the sovereign, Nivuman was frank about the fact that he wanted to raise the intellectual attainments of his entire population. He wanted health to improve, literacy to improve, and the quality of industry to rise. In this, he had the support of a surprising number of the aristocracy, who were sick of a society which so singularly failed to reach its potential. “We must move slowly, as I am sure Sei Arman appreciates,” the sovereign said. “But I have been reading your own histories, Master Kei. Your society also began slowly in such reforms, and from an even lower base than we do. I know I will die long before I achieve my aims—but I will die, I trust, knowing they are well on their way to being achieved. Peace and prosperity are the safeguards of my legacy, as they have been of your country’s.” “Then, your highness, I hope the peace that exists now, will continue until long after you and I are both dead, because I have seen enough of war,” Kei said. “We all have,” Arman agreed. The sovereign gave him a long look for that remark. “I have watched your career closely for many years, Sei Arman. I saw you rise through the ranks, become a general, and everywhere I went, there were whispers about you, about how you would become Lord Commander, and maybe even sovereign.” “Me?” Arman looked genuinely startled, something Kei hadn’t seen in a while. “I never had the least ambition....” “Nor I,” Nivuman said dryly. “Nor any thought of my brother dying and I inheriting his position and my father’s estate, but yet I did. Just as you had no idea all those years ago of ruling north Darshian, and yet now you do. After you left, there were many pitying words said about your poor father, your poor brother, and the shame they had to bear. Not so much pity now, I fancy.” “If I may be frank, your highness?” Nivuman nodded gracefully to indicate that he could. “Why did you bring me here? You could have brought the southern Rulers here instead.”

Kei leaned forward, listening intently, as did Lord Peika. He doubted any Darshianese in the entire history of their country had ever been privileged to hear the thoughts of the Prijian sovereign in quite this detail or honesty before. The sovereign took his time answering. “You probably thought I was trying to annoy someone.” “The thought crossed my mind, yes.” “You’d be wrong, however, just as you’d be wrong to think I invited your fellow Darshianese here to irritate people. I don’t do things to annoy people, Sei Arman. I do things to make them think. Much, I fancy, Master Kei, as you do when you’re teaching your students, yes?” The man’s gaze, as ever, was disconcertingly direct. “Yes, your highness. So what lesson were you hoping your people would learn?” “I want them to learn that there is beauty in the ordinary things, Master Kei, and that a country can increase the lustre of its reputation as much through peace as through war. I want to give them the thrill of discovery and achievement in ways that mean other people don’t have to die, and to show that it only increases the honour of Kuprij that one of its own people now rules in Darshek. I want them to stop feeling ashamed. For twenty years, I’ve had it shoved down my neck that we lost the war and our honour, and that General Arman had the reward of a filthy traitor by losing his nation and his home. I have never seen Sei Arman as a failure or a traitor. An unfashionable view, I grant you, but not without its adherents,” he added with a slight smile. “To regain our pride as a nation, we have to embrace our past. Make no mistake, my friends. I mean to make this country a dominant force once more. But we’ll do it with our minds and our discoveries, not our swords. You broke us of the habit of war twenty-three years ago, gentlemen. I will have my people sucking at the teat of knowledge instead.” And may your gods, if they exist, guide you well, your highness, Kei thought, feeling rather as if he’d been present at the birth of something wonderful. Time would tell. He hoped this unusual man would achieve even a small amount of what he dreamed, for he had big dreams, and a nation needed people with such breadth of vision. There was much to do, and sadly limited time to do it in. Lord Peika and Arman engaged in a busy round of negotiations and discussions, while Kei and his staff worked hard to bed the new academy in. Jera spent a lot of time with them, but also visited the palace several times to show the sovereign and his friends his powers. Their soldiers strove to strengthen further the good relations that had been built up with their Prijian counterparts, and everyone did their best to foster goodwill and understanding, being met by equally determined efforts to do the same from the other side. Though they were all kept ferociously busy, there was still time for family, for friends, often at the same time, as Arman’s father graciously threw his house open for Arman to play host to whomever he chose. In practice, that meant personal friends from the embassy and the resident Darshianese population, but also more than a few of Arman’s fellow aristocrats. For the first

time, Kei was introduced formally to the people who had been Arman’s friends in his childhood, or friends of his father, and while there was any amount of curiosity, and perhaps a little prurient interest in exactly what they did together in private, there was no hostility. The war was truly over, at last. There had been far worse scandals since Arman’s defection, of course, and since one of Arman’s fiercest critics and denigrators had himself proved to be an unspeakable and undeniable traitor, it was now acceptable to admit that of the two, Arman had been the more noble. No one had a kind word for the now departed Senator Mekus or his wife. A good many senior families had lost position and status as a result of their misguided support for the pair, but even that had been handled in a way which had been calculated to heal the wounds of a broken society. No one was hanged or eviscerated, though a death sentence had inevitably been passed upon Mekus and Mayl—a sentence they’d escaped when they had fled Utuk for the Welensi Islands—and a diplomatic retirement from office was all that had been urged upon the most blatant of their supporters. Mekus’s granddaughter, theoretically in line for the throne, had been settled quietly on one of the smaller Prijian islands, where she would live in security and luxury, but have no claim upon the position of sovereign—something the girl herself had readily agreed to, so Kei was told. Even the senator who had been implicated in Mekus’ escape had only been stripped of his rank and told to go back to his estate to contemplate his crime—a severe punishment by some lights, but Kei didn’t need Arman to tell him that under the former sovereign, the man would have suffered far worse. The more capable and less culpable offenders were now being cautiously welcomed back into government, though they were far from being trusted. Kei had to admire the way a mild, widowed scholar and farmer had managed a dangerous state revolt, and come out of it not particularly hated by most, and admired by many. Arman had once said that Kuprij had had a long line of strong but stupid leaders. It was more than time to try something new. Every day was full, and every day brought new and unexpected delights from a people and a country Kei had feared for so long. But finally, the day of the departure was fixed and at hand. The sorrow of parting was tempered a little by the decision of Tijus’s son to come with them as they travelled back through Darshian, to see something of the country and to spend some weeks with them in Darshek. There was talk of Kei and Arman coming back the following year to see how the academy was progressing, and of a visit by Tijus and his family too. What remained unspoken, though, was the fact that Senator Armis would never travel to Darshek again—the sea journey was simply too much for him now. If Arman did not return to Utuk, it was certain this was the last time he would see him. Kei gave the two men as much time together as he could, taking the opportunity to spend time with Mari and talking to her about the two schools she now ran, and the two young men she proposed for scholarships. They’d had three of Mari’s students in Darshek before, but the opening of the new academy had meant there were opportunities now right here in Utuk. She’d

wanted his advice about what was the best thing to do in the short term, and on their last morning before leaving, they spent an hour or so in her lovely garden, talking about the future of the school. Kei became so engrossed in their discussion he was quite startled by Arman’s voice. “Ah, this is where you are. No one seemed to know.” “We were hiding from you, dear,” Mari said, smiling at him. “Are you and Armis done?” Arman seemed rather subdued, his emotions tangled and sad. Before Kei could get up, Arman said, “Mari, Father would like to speak to Kei before Tijus and the others arrive.” “Certainly. Kei, you should go. In the library, Arman?” Arman nodded as Kei got to his feet. He looked into Arman’s eyes for a clue, but found none. “Are you all right?” “No. But I will be. Go on, he dislikes being kept waiting.” Kei gave him a quick kiss, and brushed his hand, before going into the house, now familiar to him as his own. He knocked politely on the library door and was gruffly ordered to enter. The senator was sitting behind a large but practical desk which, like the rest of the room, was clearly that of a man for whom this was a place of work as well as contemplation. The room itself was large, dark-timbered and lined on all walls from floor to ceiling with books, all showing signs of long use, and not merely for show. It had, Arman said, once been his favourite retreat, and Kei wondered if it was a simple love of reading which had drawn the lonely boy here, or whether he had hoped, in some small way, to connect with a distant and grieving father through their shared interest in learning. “Sit down, my boy. Let me order you some tea.” Kei thanked him, and waited until the bell was rung and the order given to the manservant. He knew Armis well enough by now that it would irritate him to be reminded that he had sent for Kei for a reason. Armis didn’t forget things like that. Once alone, the senator folded his hands upon his cane and stared at Kei with intense blue eyes—not really like his son’s in colour, but the manner and expression were identical. “You’ve made a conquest of this city, haven’t you, Master Kei?” “Hardly, sir, but I’ve been warmly received.” “Quite a contrast, don’t you think? Coming here as a hostage the first time, and in triumph the second?” Kei didn’t remind the man this wasn’t the first time he’d come in triumph—he took his point. “A welcome contrast, yes, sir.” He waited for Armis to get to the point, for this surely wasn’t it. Their tea arrived and was served, and still the senator didn’t say what was on his mind. There was something, for sure. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed—and sad, as his son had been. Kei decided to break the silence. “Sir...did you and Arman talk?”

“About what, Kei?” “Well, about his departure.” The sharp gaze became even more intense. “You mean, surely, about my mortality. Come, come, you’re a healer. You’re more aware of the frailty of the human body than most people.” “I prefer to concentrate on the person as they are while alive, sir. The only consolation I have over the death of my parents is that we never wasted a moment of our time together in regrets. Every memory I have of my time with them is filled with joy.” “Unlike those of my son or myself, you would say.” Kei looked at him, responding to the pain he could feel rather than the sternness he could see. “Did you talk to him, sir?” The senator harrumphed and picked up his teacup in large-knuckled hands. He was adept at hiding the fact of his advanced age behind his frightening intellect and wits, but now he simply look old and frail and sad. “My son...can’t bring himself to say goodbye to me. I can’t bring myself to say farewell to him either. But yet I must. I need your help, young man, though it pains me greatly to admit it.” “To do what, sir?” Armis thrust out his chin, and set down his cup. “To tell him...to tell him to go live his damn life and stop feeling so damn guilty. It wasn’t only his fault we didn’t speak for all those years, and it’s too late to do a thing about it. He needs to get on with his life. When I’m gone, it won’t matter to me what happened back then.” “Sir...Armis...I don’t think that’s what he needs to hear from you at all. I don’t think it’s really what you want to say to him either.” “So you won’t help. I should have had more sense than to ask. My apologies for imposing.” He stared past Kei’s left shoulder and made it plain he very much regretted starting the conversation at all. Kei sighed. Two good men, so very alike in some ways, and both stubborn as all hells. “Your son misses you, Armis. He misses the years he could have spent at your side, and in your company. There’s no way he could not regret that, because it meant so much to him. If your final words to him are merely to dismiss his pain, you’ll only to add to it. Is that really the last memory you want to give him? Don’t you have anything more...paternal...to say?” Armis cleared his throat, and still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No idea what to say. The man knows I’m fond of him. He surely knows I’m proud of him. Damn it, look at what he’s achieved, look at what he’s doing now. He knows I approve of that.” Kei shook his head slightly. “Sir...when your wife passed away, did you have a chance to say goodbye?” That earned him a quelling look. “Is this any of your business?”

“Did you?” “It...took some time. There was never any hope, the physicians all said so...all I could do was watch.” “Sir...Armis...what did you say to her?” More jaw clenching, and it was clear he wouldn’t answer. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain, sir,” Kei said. “But perhaps...the words you need are in your heart already.” He stood. “Shall I leave you alone now?” “Yes...no, wait, Kei. There are things I need to say to you too.” Kei took his seat again, and waited patiently, though with a little anxiety as to what the man might want to say to him. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been other opportunities to speak, and they didn’t know each other that well. He found this a source of regret, and wondered if he shouldn’t have pressed Arman harder on the subject of returning to Utuk to visit his family. It had never really seemed possible before, and while the senator and his son and family were still capable of coming to Darshek, it hadn’t been so pressing. But there was a difference between having someone to stay as a visitor, and seeing them in their own homes while they were comfortable and surrounded by friends. There was no doubt the senator was a different man here than he was in Darshek, and Kei cursed himself for not realising this sooner. Armis had closed his eyes, but wasn’t dozing, that was clear. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. Kei was prepared to wait—this was obviously difficult. Finally, the senator cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realised, until Arman came back the first time and explained, that you and your kind, like young Jera, cannot have children. This must be a sorrow for you and those like you.” This was frankly the last thing Kei had expected him to mention, and it caught him mentally on the hop. “Er...well, yes it is. But there’s not very much we can do about it. Some of us adopt, some...make arrangements.” He coughed, thinking perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to mention Seiki and Mila in front of a straight-laced Prij. “I know it’s a sorrow Arman could not have a child because of his liaison with me—” “Nonsense. As if you haven’t given him far more than any child could have done. I don’t mention it for that reason. I mention it because I think it’s a pity, because you would have made an excellent father, as you’ve made an excellent spouse for my son. When Arman told me he was running off with you, I was naturally aghast at his foolishness...but then...I was rather pleased for him, in a strange way.” He smiled. “I disapproved of his impetuousness, of course. But...to see my boy follow his heart, for love and for honour, to know this was what he wanted more than anything in the world and he was about to win it.... I prayed he was making the right decision, and he was. You made my son a happy and peaceful man. No wife could have done more for him, and you certainly did more than his wife ever did.” “I’d hope so,” Kei said rather tartly. Mayl was still a sore point after all these years. Armis raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah yes...she was rather unkind to you personally, wasn’t she? Mekus is dead, so they tell me.”

Kei jumped a little in shock. “Sir? When did you hear that?” “Only yesterday. I told Arman just now. He was heartbroken, naturally,” he added dryly. “I’m sure. And her?” “No one knows. She seems to have disappeared. No doubt she’ll turn up and cause trouble again. If she’s wise, she won’t set foot in Kuprij. His Serenity is a forgiving sort of fellow, but not that forgiving.” “No, I imagine not.” Mekus was dead—was it really true? His heart pounded a little as memories drifted in, unbidden, unwanted. Had it really been twenty-three years...? The senator nudged Kei’s teacup towards him. “It was a very long time ago,” he said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “And despite the horrors, so much good came from that time. If it hadn’t been for the war, my son wouldn’t be the man he is today, and I fancy, we would still not be speaking. Nor would our two countries, I imagine.” “A war to make peace? A contradiction in terms, surely.” “Perhaps, but it was what happened. Just as my son had to leave so he could come back to me again.” He got awkwardly to his feet, and Kei hastily rose to help him. “Damn this arthritis. In my head, I’m still twenty. My body is a traitor.” “An old and faithful servant, sir, and needing to be treated gently if it’s to serve you a long while yet.” “No need to humour me, young man. I’m not afraid of death,” he said with a fierce glare as he straightened. “Even so, there’s no need to wish it to come sooner than it needs to. You’re in a remarkable health for a man of your age. I wouldn’t be laying out money to the temples for your obsequies just yet.” Armis gave him a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’ve made it clear the only money they’ll get is if I’m upright and breathing. Gives them an incentive to pray for me to stay that way.” Kei grinned back. “Very wise. You want to go to the garden?” Despite the imminent arrival of the guests, Kei found Arman and Mari still talking together, kneeling beside a bush Mari was showing to Arman. They stood as Kei and the senator slowly approached, and Kei went to Mari’s side and took her hand. “Mari, let’s finish those students’ reports and then I’ll help you in the kitchen.” Mari looked at him in surprise as did Arman, but Kei only smiled. “Arman—stay and talk to your father.” He reached for his lover’s hand and tugged him close. “And listen, my love,” he whispered before giving him a quick kiss. “Come on, Mari—let’s get this paperwork done.” She waited until they were settled in her little sitting room. “Now what was all that about, young man?”

“The senator and his son still hadn’t finished their conversation—that’s all. It’s one they need to finish.” “Yes, they do. They’re lucky. I never had that chance, not with my son nor my husband.” “And what would you have said, if you could?” She smiled rather sadly. “The only thing that matters. That I loved them, and I always will.” “And that’s all Arman and his father need to say. They just need to find the words.” She patted his hand. “I think they will now. Bless you, Kei. Now—to paperwork.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 4 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Son, you’d get a better view of the road if you climbed a tree near the waterhole than wearing out my floor to look out the window every two minutes.” Romi grinned as Karik flushed. “Sorry, Pa. But they should be here by now, shouldn’t they?” Reji calmly continued his harness stitching as he answered. “Depends on whether they stopped to pick flowers or not. They’re travelling with a big group and who knows who stopped by to talk to them? Arman can’t just race on like he normally would. They’ll be here soon enough —want me to find you some more chores to take your mind off it?” “Pa! I’m on holiday!” Reji wagged an awl at his lad. “No one gets out of chores in this house, you know the rule. Not unless we can’t catch you.” “Sounds like a hint, Karik,” Romi said, getting to his feet. It was probably time to drag Karik outside for a walk—his lover had been on edge for hours despite working hard at various small jobs his parents had asked them both to do. He was such a little boy sometimes, though to be fair, the entire village was in a tizz because of the imminent arrival of the Rulers’ caravan. Just because one of the Rulers was Arman, didn’t mean this wasn’t a big thing for Ai-Albon. The frenzied cleaning and restocking that normally took place around now had started early and no one had been immune. Jena and Reji had probably been the most relaxed but even Reji had repainted his windowsills. He’d claimed they needed doing anyway. Romi didn’t doubt that but still.... The village summoning horn cut across their thoughts, and though it instantly made his heart race as it did those of all Darshianese, he quickly realised the message was ‘Friends approaching, all welcome.’ “They’re here!” Karik yelled, then raced out of the door without a backward glance. Reji shook his head and laid his leatherwork down. “Three or twenty-three, would you say, Romi?” “Three. Today, at least. Come on, let’s go enjoy the show.” The first time Romi arrived in Ai-Albon with Arman, Kei and Karik, it had been a low-key affair, partly because Kei hadn’t been at all certain how he’d be received, not just by Jena who was guaranteed to be hostile, but by others in the clan. In the end, his sister and her husband had discreetly carried him and Arman away so Karik and his mother could have their reunion without having to deal immediately with the thorny question of her quarrel with Kei. Whatever official welcome had been made to Arman, had happened out of Romi’s sight.

It would be different this time, he suspected, and as he and Karik’s father walked out of the house rather more casually than Karik had, the evidence was there already. People were coming from all directions, looking suspiciously well groomed and clean. Down the street, Kei’s father and uncle, the clan head, Fedor, walked sedately with his wife, Sira, at his side, followed by the clan elders. Being an elder himself, Reji excused himself to join them, and Jena slipped out from wherever she’d been working for the last hour to join him. Children bounced up and down with excitement, and Karik paced impatiently at the front of the crowd. “You’d think you’d never met any of these people before,” Romi said, sighing and tugging Karik’s long golden braid. That got him a slapped hand and a glare. “I just want to hear all Kei’s news, that’s all. I don’t give a damn about the rest of it.” “Yes, dear. Of course.” It was probably true. Kei’s reports of the doings in Utuk had made Karik deeply envious, and regretting even more that he and Romi had not been able to get away to join them. Even though they’d had several more messages through Seiki before they’d left Darshek, it wasn’t quite the same as speaking to his uncle in person. To be honest, Romi was more than a little curious himself about how things had gone, but years of command had taught him just a little self-control. Unlike some people, he thought, grinning at Karik, who gave him another evil look before resuming his long stare down the road. It didn’t take long before rising dust and the distant sound of beast feet and wagon wheels announced the new arrivals more convincingly than the horn had, and as they finally came properly into view, the children ran down the road towards the caravan, laughing and shouting. It wasn’t every day the Rulers came to the village, and people were determined to get a good measure of fun out of it. Romi refused to run towards the wagons, and though Karik clearly fought the impulse to do so, his lover managed to preserve a modicum of dignity, and waited for the six wagons and some forty beasts to come to a slow halt at the edge of the village. The soldiers came to the front and dismounted—the lieutenant shouted commands and the squad split, making a perfect honour guard between which the two Rulers, Kei and their assorted civilian companions walked down the village’s main street. All rather theatrical, but it appealed to Romi’s military taste, and no one could consider it a casual arrival. Arman stopped and spoke up in his distinctive, drawling manner. “Clan head Fedor, the Rulers of Darshek greet Ai-Albon, and seek your hospitality for weary travellers.” Fedor walked forward. “Ai-Albon greets the Rulers of Darshek and your companions, and bids you all enter,” he said in a clear voice, raising his hand. “Welcome home, my lord.” Arman grinned, and then Kei stepped out from behind him and ran to his father, hugging his parents enthusiastically. That was the signal for general chaos to break out, and old friends and new were greeted and claimed and welcomed with the generosity Romi had come to expect from this clan. Karik peeled off, to be immediately swallowed up in the crowd, but like Reji, Romi

hung back—he figured he’d get his turn. Jena plunged straight in, and moments later Romi saw Kei embracing her, only surrendering her when his sister made her claim. After a few minutes, the horn was sounded again—Fedor wanted to speak. “Well now, everyone. Meis and Rin have the billet assignments. My lord Peika and your lady, please be welcome at my home. Kei, you and Arman are at your own house with Myka and Banji. Jera, with Reji and Jena. There will be a clan supper in the square at sunset. Lieutenant? Please speak to captain Romi about your people. Karik, go help. Any questions?” Arman lifted his hand. “Er, Fedor, my nephew...?” “Karik?” But now a tall, young Prij had come to Arman’s side, and was looking back at Fedor with commendable composure. “Oh, yes, of course. Your nephew.” Arman brought the lad forward. Karik drifted back towards Romi, watching his uncle with considerable attention, his expression unreadable. “Fedor, may I introduce my nephew, Sei Tije of Utuk, son of Senator Tijus, my brother, and his wife Temir.” Fedor bowed. “Welcome, young man. Ai-Albon greets you.” “Thank you, sir. I’m delighted to be here.” Romi was surprised at the immaculate Darshianese. Karik’s penetrating stare never wavered as Fedor explained that Tije would be billeted with Myka. “But if that’s not suitable, then we can always bunk you somewhere—you don’t take up much room,” he said, which made several people laugh. “Arman? I’ll leave that to you. Come on up to our house when you’ve settled in.” Arman waved in acknowledgement, then put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. It became clear he was bringing the lad over to meet Karik and Romi. Behind him, Kei looked up, then excused himself from Myka and Banji. “Karik? You knew Tije was coming, yes? Tije, this is your cousin, Karik.” Tije held his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Karik-gidu.” “You already did.” Karik shook the lad’s hand rather warily. “You probably don’t remember that.” “No, I do,” Tije said quietly. “But we weren’t properly introduced then. Uncle?” he asked politely, nodding at Romi. “Ah, this is captain Romi, Tije. Karik’s lover. Kei told you about him.” The lad’s expression lit up. “Oh, yes, and all your adventures in Andon—I’ve been wanting to talk to you all about that, captain. What you’re doing sounds so exciting. I can’t wait to hear more about it.” Karik was still staring at the boy in an almost hostile fashion. Kei broke things up. “Ah, Tije, Romi and Karik need to see to the soldiers. Why don’t we let them get off and we’ll talk to them later?” “Of course. I’m sorry to hold you up,” Tije said, bowing.

Romi smiled at him politely, and then grabbed Karik’s arm. “Come on, work to be done.” He hauled his lover off over to where the soldiers had returned to their beasts and were busily unsaddling and unhitching them. There were too many for the village stables, but they’d be fine in one of Reji’s large pens, or just roped together. Romi found the lieutenant who saluted smartly, then listened to the brief instructions Romi had to give him from Fedor. “That’s fine then, Romi. I think most of the lads will just want a bath and a beer. I’ll come find you if there’s a problem.” That suited Romi—he’d only agreed to liaise with the delegation’s squad as a courtesy to Fedor, but he was on holiday too, and these men and women had been on duty for over two months together without a problem. He wasn’t really needed—Fedor and his wife had managed to find places for all fifty new arrivals among the village homes, and not a single soldier would sleep under canvas tonight. It would get a bit tight as people started to arrive for the night of the ancestors and to meet the Rulers, but Fedor made it a point of honour that everyone would have a proper bed—or something approximating it, anyway. As Romi and Karik walked among the soldiers and civilians, they were greeted cheerfully, and given brief reports on how things had gone as they’d made their way from Urshek up through the dry regions. There would be plenty of time for a proper debriefing since the caravan was to stay a week, longer than they had in any of the other villages, allowing everyone a break and to properly celebrate the night of the ancestors. Then the travellers would split up, and the smaller group, including Kei, Arman, Romi and Karik, would make a somewhat speedier return to Darshek, Lord Peika and his wife taking over the rump end of the journey. Karik was rather distracted, and somewhat less interested than Romi expected he might be in the news from their colleagues, though he listened politely and promised to spend a lot more time with everyone the next day. The new arrivals drifted off, claimed by their hosts and offered refreshment, food and baths. Romi would have liked to have gone and found Kei or Jera, but something was bothering his lover and he needed to find out what that was. He wasn’t surprised to find Karik heading to where a group of beasts were being brushed down and watered—he often did the same at the barracks when something was troubling him or the training hadn’t gone particularly well. His offer of assistance to the young soldiers working with the animals was gratefully received, and Romi, giving in to the inevitable, asked for a currycomb and set to work alongside him. Karik’s face was a mask of concentration, as if this one scruffy animal was the most important thing in his world and nothing else mattered. Romi was used to this too—it was how Karik did most tasks, and was one of the things that fascinated Romi about him. He kept an eye on Karik as he worked on his own animal, admiring his lover’s care for the beast, how he silently assessed the animal’s condition, noting small injuries and oddities. Romi was sure that by the time Karik finished the job, he would know the state of the beast better than the men who had been working with it and using it for months.

They finished their animals, and then there was no more excuse to avoid conversation as the other beasts were ready to be led to the pens. Karik looked about to follow them, but Romi caught his arm. “Walk with me?” A single glance sideways and then Karik nodded, falling into step with Romi as they headed towards the cemetery. “Tije’s a good-looking fellow. You can see the family resemblance.” “Yes, can’t you just.” The bitterness in Karik’s tone surprised Romi. “I thought you didn’t mind him coming to visit in Utuk. You said it might be a good idea for a Prij with a brain to have a look at what we’re doing.” “I did. It is. It’s just...his nephew. His real nephew.” “Ah.” Karik was jealous, pure and simple. Romi supposed, given his peculiar family situation, he had a little right to be. “Arman’s fond of you both, I’m sure.” “Yes, I’m sure too. But Tije’s the real thing. At least he was polite enough not to laugh when Arman called me his cousin.” “Why would he? I mean, so far as Tije’s concerned, you are—doesn’t he believe that you’re really Arman’s son?” Karik gave him a startled look. “Oh—you’re right. I mean...unless Arman explained...but he’s never come out and said to me that he’s not my father, and Tije would have been old enough to know about the court case, I guess. I hadn’t thought about that.” He stared at Romi, looking really quite perplexed. “But if he thinks that—gods, he’ll think the situation with Ma and Pa is really strange. The Prij don’t much care for adoption, and especially where the parents are still alive and around. Maybe I should say something.” “No, I really don’t think you should. Arman’s relationship with his brother’s boy is his own business, just as your relationship with Arman is your own. If Arman wants Tije and his family to know the truth, then that’s for him to tell. If Tije brings it up, then that’s different.” He grinned suddenly. “You remind me of someone.” “Who?” “Your daughter. ‘Mine, mine’. Ouch!” He grinned harder as Karik whacked his arm. “I knew you’d do that. Now come here and kiss me better.” “Grrrr.” But Karik obeyed anyway, and Romi squeezed him hard before kissing him possessively. “You really think I’m being childish?” he asked as he pulled his lips away. “I think you’re adjusting to a reality that had only been a theory before. Tije seems a nice enough young fellow and Arman would have sent him packing long before this if he wasn’t, so I think you should relax. After all, he’s been around for a long time and Arman hasn’t changed his attitude because of it. You saved Arman’s life, remember? Your friendship with him isn’t based on blood, it’s based on something a lot stronger—respect. You had to earn that, and with Arman,

once you’ve got his respect, you don’t lose it.” He kissed Karik’s forehead gently and held him close again. “Now, speaking of your daughter—don’t you want to be there when your Ma gives Kei the news?” The clouds lifted, and Karik was now simply a proud father with a good joke to play on his best friend. “You bet. Race you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tije looked at his uncle, eyebrows lifted in confusion. “What did I do, Uncle Arman?” Arman glanced at Kei, who smiled wryly, and answered in his lover’s stead. “Nothing, Tije.” Except exist, perhaps. The wave of jealousy that had boiled out from his nephew had surprised him, but perhaps it shouldn’t have. “Karik didn’t enjoy himself much in Utuk and I think you reminded him of that.” Tije nodded. “I’m sure it was awful, having to stay with Senator Mekus. I won’t mention it again.” “Like I said, you did nothing wrong. Karik can be a bit volatile—nothing to do with you, and it never lasts for long.” “Kei! Are you going to stand around all day?” His sister stood there with her hands on her hips, trying to sound annoyed but spoiling the effect by grinning. “Oh, so sorry, milady. We’ll be right there to dance attendance on you.” He clapped his hand on Tije’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s time you met the rest of the clan.” Kei and Myka’s house was bursting at the seams, and only got more squashed as packs and stores were settled and more people came to join them. Tije was introduced and warmly welcomed, then tea and cakes were served to tide everyone over until supper. Conversation centred mainly around village news, Myka saying that she wanted to wait until Karik and Romi arrived before Arman and Kei told everyone about the trip from Urshek. Not long after, Jena arrived with Reji and Jera, Keiji politely shifting off the long seat so she could sit next to Kei and Arman. Kei had been relieved Jena had greeted him so enthusiastically —he couldn’t detect any shadow on her feelings now as she smiled at him. He wished he could feel as easy as he once had with her, but it would take a while before he could forget their quarrel. He blamed himself entirely for it, but it had made him realise how fragile friendships could be when a loved one was under threat. He’d believed nothing could harm his relationship with Jena, and he’d been proved brutally wrong. He couldn’t yet—perhaps never would be able to—take it for granted again. The conversation was now pretty deafening, but young Tije listened to all that was going on around him with his usual calm demeanour. Kei had been very impressed with the lad, and thought him a credit to his parents. Though it all must have been very strange to a pampered young nobleman, he’d met every challenge with grace and quiet humour, and not attempted to shirk the least chore or discomfort, sleeping with the other civilians and refusing all special privileges. Kei had sensed Arman’s personal pride in his nephew’s performance, but it’d had

wider implications. For many of the people they’d met in the dry regions, the last Prijian aristocrat they’d encountered had been Arman himself, during the war, and that was not calculated to endear the race to anyone. With his uncle, Tije had proved that not all highborn Prij were arrogant ninnies, or cruel, and that the future of Kuprij could be as enlightened as Nivuman wanted it to be. The fact he spoke perfect Darshianese had gained him friends, and his polite, interested manners had won over those who might have had reason to resent his race or his privileges. In fact, the very first person he’d failed to charm almost immediately had been Karik. It remained to be seen if Kei’s nephew would put aside his petty feelings and learn to appreciate Tije’s good qualities. We’ll soon find out, Kei thought, waving at Karik and Romi at the door. They’d done a double take at the number of people in the room. “Over here, Ka-chi! Always room for one more, you know.” “One, yes,” Arman grumbled, but somehow they managed to fit Karik’s compact form into the mess. Romi, being as big and wide as Reji, didn’t even try to squeeze in, and stood on the edge of the gathering, grinning down at them all. Karik gave Tije a brief smile, but when Tije offered to move to let Romi sit, he only said, “Oh, leave it, I see enough of him.” Tije blinked a little, then glanced at Kei for reassurance. Kei nudged his nephew. “Karik, manners please. Some people weren’t raised by urs beasts, you know.” “I don’t know how you would,” Jena said tartly, reaching behind Kei to tug on his braid. “And just who are you calling an urs beast, hmmm?” “Jena, please, my position!” “No use, Keichichi,” Reji said, laughing as Jena relented not one whit. “You know no one here’s got any respect for position. Though I could have sworn I raised my boy with better manners than that.” Karik flushed. Kei frowned at Reji, then put his hand on Karik’s shoulder, feeling his intense mortification at being ticked off by his father, even if only teasingly, in front of his uncles and his as yet unfamiliar cousin. “Only joking, Ka-chi,” he whispered, then looked at Arman who, thankfully, took the hint. “I suppose you want our news now?” he called over to Myka. Kei kept his hand on Karik’s shoulder as Arman reported on how things had gone in Utuk. There was a lot to tell, and a lot of questions. Jera raised laughter describing the demonstrations of his Gift he’d given to the sovereign and selected nobles, and then had to promise to do the same for the clan since so many of the people had never met a truly Gifted before. “And how did it go at Ai-Vinri?” Romi asked, when things got a little quieter. “Very well. The ban was lifted,” Arman said briefly, glossing over just what a significant and, at times, painful event it had been. Plans to visit Ai-Vinri had been the subject of no little

discussion, and caused a huge headache for all concerned, since the ban on the Prij entering it— and Arman especially—was still in place. But at the same time, the clan accepted the authority of the Rulers in Darshek, and it was unthinkable that one of them should be barred from entering. In the end, Arman had said the decision would be left entirely with the clan, and if they refused him entry, it would be considered a purely personal issue and not have any impact on the dignity of the Rulers or their authority, a fudge which had made Lord Meki grumble a good deal before they had left, but which was really the only realistic option. Kei had resigned himself to spending that part of the journey under canvas, because he would not accept an invitation on his own behalf Arman could not be part of. But when they had got to the outskirts of Ai-Vinri, they’d been in for a surprise. The caravan was met by all the elders of the clan, who had an invitation to deliver to Arman and to Tije—that they should participate in a ceremony of reconciliation between the two races, so the ban could be lifted. On his own behalf, Arman agreed immediately, and Tije had had no more hesitation, though Arman had been privately worried as to the effect on a young, inexperienced lad. He needn’t have worried. Fejsik, the now very elderly clan head, had met them in the village, and a clan meeting was held in the square. People were invited to address the meeting and their visitor, mostly the relatives of the ten hostages who had been killed all those years before, speaking of their sorrow and how their lives had been affected. It had been very moving, and rather distressing—but it had been a healing sadness, a shared grief which allowed the burden to lessen. When the clanspeople had finished, Fejsik rose, and had spoken quietly of his own loss of his beloved daughter, and how he had sought to ease his pain by keeping the race which had killed her and the others out of their home. “But now I am old, and soon will die and be reborn,” he had said, his voice husky and a little weakened with his age. “I don’t want to face my child in my new life with the stain of hate on my soul. Something new must come from our pain. We won a peace at great cost, we placed great trust in our former enemy and it has been repaid many times over. The future does not belong to hate. Arman, please, come forward.” Arman had done so, and Fejsik extended his hand. “In the memory of my daughter Myri, and the nine others who died, I offer you friendship, Arman of Utuk and Darshek.” Arman had clasped Fejsik’s hand. “In their memory, for the sake of the Prij who now only want peace with your nation, and in my own name as both a Prij and a Darshianese, I accept your friendship, Fejsik of Ai-Vinri.” He knelt and bowed his head. Fejsik had placed his hand on Arman’s head. There had been only silence as people looked upon this act of atonement. Kei had sensed great sadness, but also a feeling this was right and good, that it was well done. He had never been more proud of Arman than at this moment, never more glad to have been part of bringing him to Darshian. But Arman, for now, chose not to give all the details of their time in Ai-Vinri, and Romi accepted his bare assessment without asking for elaboration, though Jena looked at Kei. “Later,”

he mouthed, and she nodded. They could have discussed it through her gift, but Kei had too many claims on his attention right now. Tije smiled at Karik, then said hesitantly, “I suppose you’ll be pleased the ban has been lifted on the Prij, then?” Karik stiffened. “Actually, it’s never affected me because I’m Darshianese.” Tije actually leaned back, clearly upset at his gaffe. “Oh...uh, I’m sorry, I meant no offence.” “Karik, stop being a brat,” Kei said quietly. “Tije, Karik was naturalised as a baby. Arman was made a citizen too, but the ban extended to him personally, not just on account of his race. I was there when Fejsik made that decree—he was very upset, still grieving hard for his daughter. He didn’t have time to think it through, but even just a couple of months later when we were all there again, he had already begun to regret it. I think we gave him the perfect excuse to drop it gracefully, and at the same time do some good for the village.” “Fejsik’s a good man,” Karik said, nodding. “He could have been really spiteful towards me with my connections, but he was never anything but kind.” “He’s one of the great clan heads,” Kei said, “and Darshian needs many more like him.” “I was honoured to meet him,” Tije said. “I don’t think many Prij know what happened in the war, at least not about that incident. If it had happened in a Prijian village, I don’t think either of you would ever be welcome. When I join the government, I intend to make sure this peace lasts.” Karik was rather startled, as if he’d forgotten Tije would one day be a senator. Kei nodded. “Then I hope your sovereign and his successors help you with that, Tije. So many good things are being done now between our countries. You and Karik are the future all of us have worked so hard for.” Tije smiled. Karik was still rather tense, and Kei wondered how these two would ever become friends, as he was sure they should be. “Leave it, Kei.” He jumped, then looked at Jena. “He has to get used to it.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, Kei, there’s a little bit of news that you might be interested in. Mila and Seiki will be needing more of your babysitting services.” For a moment, he was nonplussed by the abrupt change of subject, then, as he looked at his friend and her son, then up at Reji and Romi, grinning like fools, he whooped and grabbed Jena and Karik into a two-armed hug. “Really? When? I mean, not when, when? And you never said anything, you damn woman!” Everyone in the room except the new arrivals had heard the news and had just been waiting for his reaction, so he played up to it, scolding Karik and Romi ferociously for keeping the secret. He didn’t have to feign his delight, nor did Arman—Arman was probably even more pleased than Karik, and Karik looked like he was about to split something from smiling. Tije was completely bewildered, but clearly too polite to ask.

“Karik’s going to be a father again,” Kei said, grinning, but then as Tije raised his eyebrows, and looked over at Romi and then back at Karik in even greater confusion, he realised he’d just committed a major error. “Um, I’ll explain later.” Karik was glaring at him, and rightly so. “Sorry,” Kei mouthed. Arman shook his head. Oh well, the secret was out. They would soon find out if Tije’s tolerance and accepting manners had a limit. He didn’t really have a chance to apologise to Karik at the supper—so many people wanted to talk to him and Arman, and this wasn’t something he could thrash out in a crowd. In a few snatched private moments before they’d headed out, when Kei had berated himself for his idiocy, Arman only said it had been a pity Tije hadn’t heard it from Karik himself, and that they would have to explain it later. How, Kei didn’t know. The number of Prijian taboos that Karik, Mila and Seiki had transgressed probably meant, by Tije’s lights, they were beyond any possible redemption. The travellers were tired, and with the night of the ancestors coming up, no one wanted to make a long evening of it. People drifted back to their houses, guests in tow, after only a couple of hours. Myka and Banji had already gone back to bathe, and his sister told him not to be late. Arman and Tije were talking to Reji and Fedor. Karik stood with Romi and Keiji, listening to something Peit was saying. Kei wandered over, waited for Peit to finish and go off in search of his wife, then poked Karik’s shoulder. “Would it help if I said I’m an idiot and you can tell me that as often as you like?” “You’re certainly a big-mouthed idiot,” Karik said, scowling at him. “But I guess it might have come out accidentally anyway, since he’s coming to Utuk. But I won’t have him being rude about Jes or her mothers—I don’t care who his pissing Pa is.” Kei held his hands up. “Hey, calm down, Ka-chi. Tije hasn’t said a word about it, and he’s not like that, not that I’ve seen.” “He’s a Prij, they’re all like that,” Karik said, sniffing. “That’s my broad-minded lover for you,” Romi said. “Karik, you know perfectly well even some of us find it all a bit unconventional. Give the lad a chance.” “He seems really nice,” Keiji said. “I was talking to him before and he was just normal. It was a bit like talking to Arman, only not so scary.” Kei laughed. “Sounds about right. Karik, he’s not competition, and never will be. Arman has several nieces and nephews, but you’re his boy, you know that.” “Only not really.” Karik glanced at Romi. “Maybe I better explain it to him before he gets to Darshek.” “Let me—I made the mistake, I’ll fix it.” And I won’t be so defensive, Kei added silently. “Keiji, your Ma said to hurry on back and have a wash. We’ll be along soon and wanting a bath.” “Yes, uncle Kei. See you all tomorrow!”

Kei waited until he left, before turning back to the other two. “I really am sorry, Ka-chi. I was just so happy, I forgot. It’s such wonderful news.” “You can make it up to me by making sure Mila is delivered safely,” Karik said, relenting. “Oh, stop looking so worried. I don’t care what Tije thinks.” “You should,” Kei said, now completely serious. “He really will help govern Kuprij one day, and that’s why I want him to see and learn as much as he can now. Romi, I want you to show him everything you and your team are doing, even take him on field exercises if it’s safe. Karik, this is your chance to address the nation of Kuprij directly, so make the most of it. We built some wonderful bridges in Utuk, but we need to keep strengthening them. Tije’s Pa knows that, and so does the sovereign. Tije won’t be the only nobleman we bring to Darshek, and we have to give them the same message—Darshian wants peace, and wants to share knowledge. We’re no threat, and we won’t be threatened. So stop looking at Tije as competition and see him as a visitor to cultivate. Please, nephew? I’d take it as a personal favour.” “You don’t have to ask.” Karik gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry too. I’ll do better tomorrow.” Kei pulled him into a hug. “Don’t worry, Ka-chi. Now, I better collect everyone, and go and get clean. I really, really need a bath.” “Ah, Tije’s going to join you?” Romi asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s rather open-minded for a Prij.” “He’s a good lad. Got a lot in common with you, Karik, though he’s more polite. Like you were as a boy.” Kei grinned as Karik aimed a mock-slap at him. “And he never tries to hit his elders and betters. Karik, in the morning, I have work for you to do.” “I’m on holiday! Why don’t people listen to me?” “Scientists and healers are always on duty, sorry, nephew. Good night.” Fortunately, though Karik affected a slightly curmudgeonly air at times, he was still essentially the same sweet-natured lad he’d always been, and his nephew would do as he said and make every effort to be friends with his cousin. ‘Cousin’, Kei thought slightly bemusedly— Karik’s family was certainly an eclectic bunch. But then, so was Kei’s. Arman and Tije were more than ready to leave. Arman was drooping a bit—it had been a very early start, and Arman and Lord Peika had had some long discussions with farmers who’d joined them at the campsite and ridden along with them for a bit. Arman had been on duty almost the entire time they’d been away. The stop in Ai-Albon would be more recreation than work, but even so, for once he was there in an official capacity and doubtless tomorrow there would be meeting after meeting with people travelling in to meet him and to be with the clan for the night of the ancestors. Lord Peika was originally from Ai-Beyto and had family there, so he would claim a rest in the next village,

but both men would doubtless be glad to get back to their permanent homes. None of them, Kei thought ruefully, were really young enough for this kind of thing any more. Keiji was waiting for them at the house. “Ma and Pa have gone to bed. Tije, do you want me to wait up for you?” “We’ll show him the way,” Kei said. “Off to bed with you, young man.” “Kei, I’m not a little boy any more,” Keiji complained with all the dignity of his seventeen years. “Son, neither am I and I’ll be looking for my bed soon enough,” Arman said, clapping Keiji’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.” Arman led them all into the washroom, and once the door was closed, turned to Kei in mild reproof. “He really isn’t a child, you know.” “Sorry—when you’ve birthed them and bathed them and let them puke over your shoulder, they’ll always be children to you. I expect your parents do the same thing, don’t they, Tije?” “They’re pretty good about treating me as a grown up. Grandfather is the worst—uh, no offence, uncle Arman.” Arman only grinned. “None taken, lad. Come on, my old bones need that bath.” Despite his words to Romi, no one had been more surprised at Tije’s ready acceptance of Darshianese bathing customs than Kei. Actually, he’d put his own uncle to shame, since Arman then couldn’t admit he didn’t bathe with anyone but his lover. It had been one of the more amusing aspects of the trip, in fact, watching Arman overcome twenty-three years of inhibitions and finally take that final step towards fully becoming Darshianese. Though Kei would have loved a private bath with Arman, this was still bliss, he thought, sinking into the deliciously hot water. Arman already had his eyes closed, savouring it. Tije’s fair skin pinked up, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. “You’ll have to convince your father to install one,” Kei teased. “I’ll certainly try. He said he’s enjoyed them when he’s come to visit, but I don’t think you’d ever get him sharing one—not like you, uncle.” Arman grunted, and Kei hid his grin. “Kei, may I ask, if it’s not impolite....” “About Karik and the baby?” Tije nodded quickly. “I don’t want to cause any more offence. Karik doesn’t seem to like me much already.” “He’ll get over it,” Arman said in a low rumble—he sounded half-asleep already. “Kei, can you explain? My brain is too tired for this.” Kei discreetly took hold of his lover’s hand. “Tije, you recall the gifted such as myself and Jera can’t have children?” “Yes, I remember. It’s very sad.” He waited politely for Kei to continue.

“Well, one of Karik’s dearest friends is truly Gifted, a mind-speaker—Seiki’s one of the people who’s been keeping us all in touch with Darshek over the last few weeks. She has a normal lover—another woman.” He waited for Tije to assess that, and checked his reaction. So far, it was only curiosity—at least he had some experience of same sex lovers behind him. “Mila and Seiki were desperate to have children, and so Karik, uh...offered to help out.” Tije stiffened. “Karik...and someone else’s lover? Did her partner know?” “Yes—it was all mutually agreed. Now I know it’s unusual,” he added hastily, seeing that at last, Tije’s upbringing caused a difficulty he’d so admirably tried to avoid for weeks now, “but so is Mila and Seiki’s situation. No truly Gifted has raised a child of their own in over a hundred years, probably more. What Karik has done is almost a miracle—and Jes is a beautiful child. You’d like her a lot.” Beside him, Arman had gone very still, but he wasn’t saying anything. Yet. “But Mila is being unfaithful? Doesn’t that matter?” “Not in her heart. It’s not like she’s deceiving Seiki. They both want this. Karik’s not emotionally involved with Mila.” Tije was very quiet, and Kei felt his disapproval. Arman stirred. “Tije, fidelity is taken just as seriously in Darshian as it is in Kuprij, and Karik’s sense of honour is as well-developed as your own. This isn’t moral turpitude, but Karik giving two fine young people a chance to be parents, and a damn good job they’re making of it too. You’ve met Seiki, though you probably don’t remember her. She’s a very kind, decent person, and Mila would grace anyone’s home.” “It’s very strange, uncle.” “Yes, I know it is, nephew. But then so is this,” he said, splashing his hand through the water. “What would your grandfather say about this, do you think?” “He’d be shocked. But then he’d probably try it once just to see.” Kei grinned. “He probably would. Tije, Mila and Seiki and Karik don’t need your approval. But at least try to understand.” “I will,” he said earnestly. “So, you have a granddaughter, uncle Arman? Father never mentioned it.” Arman coughed and sat up. “Uh...technically,” he said, glancing at Kei. “But I really don’t...think of it that way. Karik’s Jena and Reji’s boy now, and Jes is their granddaughter. You’ll, um, upset people if you refer to her in any other way. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it to your parents or your grandfather either—it’s not really a family matter.” Tije stared, but then nodded. “Yes, uncle. I understand,” he said, though he clearly didn’t.

Kei sighed. “Well, gentlemen, lovely though this is, Arman’s falling asleep and he’s far too big to carry up the stairs.” That got him a poke in the side. He stuck his tongue out, scandalising Tije afresh. “Come on, dear.” Arman growled as he stood up and stepped out. In a few minutes, they had privacy again in Kei’s old room—which had been Meran’s but now Meran was married and living in a new house with Gyo. It had been strange, coming back here and staying in his former home—for years, he and Arman had stayed with Jena and Reji, but after the quarrel, of course that hadn’t been allowed, and now Karik needed space for his own lover.... So many changes to his life, his family. But he would change very little of it, and that which he would, was better left unchanged. He hung up their house robes behind the door, and then sat on the bed so his hair could be groomed. No matter how tired Arman was, he always insisted on this, and to be truthful, Kei doubted he would sleep properly unless this little ritual was carried out. “Tije is trying hard, but I don’t think he can really accept any of it,” he said, as Arman began the familiar, careful movements, so soothing and pleasant to them both. “Give him time. Tije’s an intelligent and tolerant boy, and you have to admit the situation isn’t common even by Darshianese standards. I was more concerned by Karik’s behaviour—what on earth is wrong with him?” “You, beloved,” Kei said dryly. “Karik suddenly has to compete for attention from his favourite uncle, and he doesn’t like it. If Tije were less handsome and poised, he wouldn’t be such a threat.” “But that’s ridiculous! I don’t....” Arman tugged Kei around to face him. “Ah. It’s nothing to do with anything I’ve done, is it?” “Not a bit of it. I think Karik’s more jealous of your blood relationship with Tije than anything else.” “But so far as he knows, he has a blood relationship with me.” Privately, Kei wondered if Karik really believed that—the lad was more than clever enough to work out all the clues for himself. “Not one anyone can openly acknowledge. He’ll get over it. It’s just the time of year, when we’re all thinking about family and home more than usual.” Arman nodded and went back to carefully combing and rebraiding Kei’s hair. Family and home were certainly on Arman’s mind. His lover would need all his family—blood or adopted— around him when his father finally left him. They’d managed to say their goodbyes, which was a good thing. The ache was still there, nonetheless, and always would be. Arman finished and they got under the covers, for once far too tired to make love. Kei snuggled into Arman’s strong arms and thought how very wonderful it was to have someone like him to come home to.

“Maybe I should tell him,” Arman said, just as Kei was drifting off. “Who? What?” “Karik. About...not being his father. And Tije too. It might make things more understandable.” “It might make things much worse too. Tije’s not entitled to Karik’s secrets or even yours. I slipped up tonight, but that wasn’t my intention. Let’s not stir the pot even more. Karik won’t thank you for naming him a bastard in front of his fancy cousin, and Tije won’t think more of Karik for it either.” “I didn’t mean....” Arman heaved a deep sigh. “I’m no good at this kind of thing.” Kei kissed him, cuddling in a little closer. “You handle the sovereigns, I’ll handle the relatives. Sound fair?” “Perfectly. Good night, my love.” “Good night, Arman.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 6 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “What a view!” Tije peered eagerly across the vista towards the sparkling ocean. “I had no idea Darshek plain was so big!” Karik nodded. “It’s a big country. You get an even better view if you climb one of the trees.” Romi glanced at his lover—was this some test of Tije’s gameness? “You think Arman will be thrilled if you break your neck trying, Karik?” “I’m not suggesting it—I was just saying. I don’t think I’d dare, not just for a view—not now. I’m not young and stupid anymore, Romi.” “Of course you’re not, dear,” he said, grinning. Tije hid a smile behind his hand, and after a moment, Karik just shook his head and gave Romi a gentle smack on the arm. “Come on, Tije—even without a tree, there’s a place where you can get a little higher, and you can see the quarries.” Romi watched them go, relieved the two of them had finally settled into an easy relationship. It wasn’t quite friendship, but Karik had dropped his jealous hostility and now treated Tije as an honoured guest, to be given consideration and shown novelties like any other. Whether they would ever be more than this to each other, remained to be seen, but peace had broken out pretty quickly and Romi gave both Karik and Tije credit for that. And Arman and Kei too, in their own kind way. The week in Ai-Albon had been very pleasant, and Tije had been genuinely moved by the ceremony of the night of the ancestors. He’d told them that a similar thing had been held in Ai-Vinri after the reconciliation and he’d been invited to light a candle in memory of the departed too, which he’d gladly done. As an ambassador for his country, he was doing a fine job. He wasn’t the only one. Seeing Karik working with Kei’s staff and the villagers, enthusing about the work the new expeditionary unit would be carrying out, and how Darshian needed more researchers, more people observing, reporting and exploring their own country too, Romi made a pledge to himself to arrange for Karik to travel further south, even to Urshek, to spread the word about their work. Relations with the southern academy were still rather cool. Kei had pointedly not paid a visit on their way through, though their group had been received warmly by the southern Rulers—and there was the thorny question of Soza still being on the run, whereabouts unknown—but Karik was able to inspire people so thoroughly, his presence as a recruiter would be vital. When they returned to Andon, his talents would be indispensable to their freshly trained team, ready to spread their knowledge to the Andonese and to select those who would in turn be trained and lead teams—a slow, organic process that would bear fruits in the long term.

Arman was a long-term thinker, and this was a typical plan of his, one that would be of less benefit to him than to Jes’s generation, but one which would mean she and her children would lead healthier, more productive and interesting lives. Even to a childless man like Romi, there was a lot of satisfaction to be gained from that. The sun was going down before Karik and Tije returned, Tije smiling at something Karik was saying, his hands animated as they got when he was really excited. Romi turned and found Kei close by, watching. “They’re more alike than they think,” Kei said quietly. “Both very good men, both going to make a mark on their countries. As will you, Romi.” “I’m going to try. Looking forward to going home?” “I’m always home, if I’m with Arman,” he said with a slight smile. “I’ve enjoyed this time. We should do it again. It’s too easy sitting in Darshek and losing touch with what is Darshian. He’s felt it too. He wants to go back to Utuk, though who knows if it will be soon enough.” “Soon enough?” Romi cocked his head, confused. “Soon enough to see his father again. But if it’s not...they made a peace. It was beautiful.” He smiled again, a little painfully. “To have the chance to say goodbye is no bad thing.” Romi remembered that Kei had been denied that gift with both his parents. “No, it’s not. Come on, last supper on the trail, and tomorrow, we can eat Pira’s food.” Kei grinned at him. “Ah, now, that I have missed.” Romi waved to Karik who waved back, but he was still talking and there was no need to drag him away. Romi and Kei made their way over to the cooking fires, where the evening meal was being prepared. Jera was helping two soldiers with a wheel repair, holding the wagon up without the slightest effort so they could get under it—his Gift had been very handy, everyone had agreed on that. It might not be the last chance for him to use it on such a journey—Jera had got the taste for travel. Maybe before too long, all of the Gifted would leave their refuge and come see the rest of the country. One day. Arman was hunkered down, tending to the fires. He’d insisted on his share of the chores too, much to the surprise of the soldiers, most of who hadn’t even been born when Arman had given up his role as a general. Arman appeared to have rather enjoyed getting back under canvas—life was certainly simpler on the road, though he’d still been busy with Ruler duties. Ah well, the interlude was soon to be over. They would spend tonight at this staging post on the Kislik range, and they should get to the foot of the mountain before noon. Arman and the others would then make haste back to Darshek city, leaving the soldiers and civilian staff to bring back the wagons. The road from the range to the city was long and dull, and it was simply a waste of senior personnel’s time to have them crawl along on this last leg of the journey. Romi was eager to get back—he’d enjoyed his break, enjoyed seeing more of the north, but he had work to do and he wanted to get back to it. Karik, he was sure, felt much the same.

Still, it was nice being out in the open this last evening, the weather fair and the sky clear, the moon full and fat above them. People took their ease by the campfires, talking quietly, laughing at small jokes, and listening as one or other held court briefly, explaining something. Friendships had been made on this trip, and though people would go their separate ways tomorrow, those friendships would remain. It was no bad thing to have civilians travelling with soldiers, soldiers seeing how the civilians worked. It was a lot more balanced and pleasant than the arrangement on the Andonese mission, where the civilians had been vastly outnumbered, and for much of the time, not inclined to throw their lot in with their soldier colleagues. No—that wasn’t fair. Karik had done that from day one. It had only been Soza who had refused to join in. His mood darkened, thinking of that piece of urs shit. “Romi?” Kei asked, coming to sit by him with a mug of tea. “Something wrong?” “No. Just memories. Soza,” he explained when Kei lifted an eyebrow. Kei’s expression clouded a little. “Ah. Karik’s moved on quite well, I think. I’m proud of him—and you—for that.” “Karik’s courage was never in question. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to strangle that scrawny neck. Did we never hear a word of him? It’s so odd that no one’s reported anything.” He knew they’d been thorough. Arman had sent out so many requests, asking personally for assistance—it seemed incredible not a breath of a report had come through. Kei poked the fire, his handsome face suddenly solemn. A little distance off, Arman raised his head and glanced their way—it was absolutely uncanny how the two of them, one completely ungifted as he was, could sense each other’s mood the way they did. Kei gave his lover a slight nod of reassurance, then Arman did the same before turning back to his conversation with Jera. “Something’s happened?” Romi asked, scanning the group for Karik—there he was, talking to one of the soldiers. Tije was with him again—good. “Something...bad?” “Something unconfirmed, which is why I’ve not mentioned it to Karik or you before. Arman is going to keep pursuing it.” “Kei—tell me. I won’t tell Karik unless you think it’s wise, but I’d rather know.” Kei nodded, his eyes still on the twig he was playing with, setting the end on fire and waving it out, over and over. “One of the new masters in Utuk said they had had someone apply for a position as a herbalist—a Darshianese. Said he’d been working on ships sailing the routes around the Welensi and Itenwi islands, working as ship’s physician and trading medicinal plants. The man seemed knowledgeable but rather hesitant to give references or his background, and when pressed, he just left. The description matched, more or less, though of course the name didn’t.” “Do we know where he went?” Kei shook his head. “No, and I didn’t want to press it. The master mentioned it to me because he was curious if I knew the man. I said I didn’t and, of course, didn’t mention my

suspicions. I did say I personally wouldn’t employ anyone without confirming their credentials, and that anyone I’d trained would be happy to provide them. I hope that was enough of a warning. I had a message sent to Bren in Utuk—he ships a lot of the herbs we buy from the south and from Kuprij—and he said he’d heard the name Soza may be using, but knew nothing of his whereabouts. There are a lot of ships and it’s a large trade. He has hundreds of places to hide.” “He can’t keep changing his name—not and build his reputation. He’s not a healer—how can he get work as a physician? And he gets seasick too.” Kei shrugged, still looking rather grim. “Lots of sailors get seasick—and he’s got access to narcotics, so he might be using them for the worst of it. He had very basic healer training— similar to what your soldiers are doing now—and he’s very knowledgeable about medicinal herbs. No hesitation in using them either as we know,” he added bitterly. “He can pick up the rest as he goes, and to be honest, he would be no more useless than a lot of even supposedly qualified Prijian physicians. A lot better than most ships would have access to. I’m sure he’s had no trouble getting a place on a boat.” Romi nodded. “Explains why no one’s heard anything of him in Urshek, at least. Have you put the word about?” “As much as we can. It’s not absolutely certain it’s Soza, Romi.” “Sounds pretty damn certain to me,” Romi said, grinding his teeth a little. “Should I tell him?” he asked, looking over to where Karik was still intent on his own conversation. He had been doing so well—not a flashback in months, and their sex life was happy and fulfilling. Romi really didn’t know how this would affect him. “I leave that to you,” Kei said, looking over to his nephew too, and frowning unhappily. “I can see arguments both ways. At least it would reassure him that he wasn’t likely to run into the man in Urshek, should he decide he needs to go there.” “But Master Jezinke—” Kei turned to him, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Not at him, Romi knew. “Jezinke’s a fool. The more I hear about how he’s running things, the more I think that, though it’s not very charitable towards an otherwise fine researcher. He shouldn’t be running that academy. I’ve made my feelings known to those who might have influence, and we’ll have to see what happens. He’s nearly seventy. I suspect in the near future he’ll receive an offer of a generous pension and an invitation to retire. Arman’s counterparts aren’t happy either. Really, it was scandalous the Utuk academy got more help from us than from the south, and what they did get from the south was a shambles. I’ll send a team down there for at least six months to make up the deficit. They were too polite to ask until I got there. I’m so glad I decided to go in person. There’s no substitute.” “Agreed. I’ll tell Karik, I think—but perhaps not just yet. Maybe when Tije goes home.”

“Good idea.” Kei looked towards Karik and Tije again—the two men were making their way over to them now, bearing mugs and plates of food. “I can imagine how much Karik does not want Tije to know the smallest thing about this.” “So can I. So,” Romi said, grinning up at his lover, and betraying nothing of what he’d just learned in his expression. “Where’s my supper?” “In the pot, go get it,” Karik said flatly, making Tije smirk. He was finally used to his cousin’s somewhat sarcastic humour. “Such a kindly person, my lover,” Romi said, shaking his head. “Kei, shall I get yours?” “If you don’t mind. I’ll make sure Karik doesn’t steal your seat.” Karik stuck a most disrespectful tongue out at his uncle. “Tsk. Young people, don’t you think, Romi?” “I’m sure he’d side with the elderly, since he is one,” Karik said, sitting next to the space Romi had vacated, but ostentatiously not allowing his bottom to intrude in it by an inch. “Off you go.” “Manners of a pissing urs beast, I’m telling you.” Romi loved being teased by Karik, and he grinned as he went in search of the food. But as he waited for access to the stew pot and for a share of the camp bread, he couldn’t help thinking about Kei’s revelations. In some ways, the situation might actually be worse if Soza were found —Romi had some doubt as to whether a successful prosecution could be brought for any of his crimes, and if a prosecution failed, then the man was quite brazen enough to re-establish himself in Urshek, possibly even in Darshek. At least this way, he was a fugitive, unable to show his face, and for someone like Soza, that might be the worst punishment of all—being unable to boast of his credentials, and never able to attain a position of any importance at all. Karik wasn’t at all sure what would make him feel better about what had happened to him— for it not to have happened was the only certainty and of course, that just wasn’t possible. Judging the right time to tell him was going to be tricky. If Karik had been fretting about it, then the decision would be easy. While he was so happy and busy and determinedly putting the attack behind him, Romi would do nothing to destabilise him—but Karik better not find out the information had been withheld from him or there’d be hell to pay. He sighed as he collected the plates and mugs and walked back to Kei and the others. Being a good lover could be damn hard sometimes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 7 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tije probably wasn’t aware how much anxiety he was giving everyone, Kei thought rather fondly, or that he had his own personal Gifted watchdog keeping an eye out for an inexperienced rider. Tije had never ridden an urs beast before he’d joined the Darshianese mission, though he was a fine jesig rider, and had only learned how to manage the much larger animals on the road. That was fine when they were travelling with the wagons, going no faster than a slow trotting speed. But now they had reached Darshek plain, they were supposed to be riding with some haste along the main highway. Arman had asked the lad if he would prefer a calash was summoned, and that had offended Tije’s pride so much his uncle relented and said that of course he would be fine on a beast. Then Arman had gone straight to Jera and begged him to make sure the lad didn’t fall and crack his skull or worse. In the end, their worries were unfounded, as Tije rode completely confidently and his beast was thus far completely disinclined to do anything but settle into the familiar loping stride. Karik and Romi rode on either side of him, but the three were just chatting as best they could, given their speed, and didn’t seem worried. Kei was glad they hadn’t had to make a concession to Tije after all—the necessarily slow pace of their journey had been the only serious frustration of the entire project, and now it was nearly all over, he was eager to get back to their house and the academy. There was so much to be done, and so much had come of their journey. It had been the perfect tonic after the horrors of the previous year, and he now felt invigorated and fully ready for his job again. He’d found it hard to settle in before now. Nagging guilt and depression had given him severe doubts over his decision to go back to work. Now he knew he’d done the right thing—and could even face the prospect of Karik going on another Andonese mission with something approaching equanimity. If anything happened to Karik this time, it would be a blow—but one he could deal with. The important thing was that he, Jena and Karik had come to an understanding over Karik’s career, and Jena no longer felt Karik was in thrall to Kei’s manipulations on the subject. And if she was no longer under that illusion, then neither could Kei be. Karik had convinced them very thoroughly his destiny lay in his own hands, and that Jena, Kei, Reji and Arman all had to allow him to seek that destiny in his own way. It had been the painful gift Arman’s father had given his son, and it was what Karik’s parents had given him. It was what a good parent had to do, in the end. Kei wondered if Tijus would do the same for Tije. The lad had a strong, enquiring mind and though he seemed interested in following in his father and grandfather’s footsteps, Kei had to

wonder if, having tasted a little of what the wider world could offer, the lure of travel and exploration might pull him from that path. But, as the Prijian sovereign had said, for Kuprij to become great in a way that did not involve conquest and war, they needed young people like Tije to stay and work for the good of their own country. The only way that would happen would be if they offered something to fulfil the promise of such bright minds. “Plotting again, dear?” Arman said, leaning over to pat his arm as they slowed down to let wagons cross the road. Kei smiled at him. “Just thinking about the future. I’d never have dreamed Kuprij could play such an important part in it.” “It played an important part in your past, so it was always likely.” He nodded towards the young people. “I have to say if the future is in their hands, then it’ll be a bright one.” “Exactly what I was thinking.” He stole a quick kiss then kicked his beast into motion again. “Come on, I can practically taste Pira’s sweet cakes!” They reached the barracks two hours after noon, their arrival announced by Neka who had been in near constant contact all day, though most of it had been speaking to her lover whom she’d missed. The feeling was clearly mutual, because Jera had only waited for them all to set foot in the barracks before dismounting, murmuring an apology and a promise to be in touch very soon, and then rising into the air and heading straight across to the city and the House of the Gifted. “I think Neka’s going to be out of action for a while,” Kei said, trying to keep a straight face as they watched him fly off—they couldn’t sense Jera’s eagerness like he could. Neka would be a very busy—and satisfied—lady in no time at all. Then he spotted a familiar figure striding towards them. “Ho, Tiko!” “Hello, Kei—welcome back, your lordship,” Tiko said, winking at Arman. “Captain, Karik —and this is Sei Tije, yes?” He bowed. “Captain Tiko, at your service.” Tije dismounted and then bowed properly. “Just Tije, captain. Thank you.” “Then it’s Tiko. Good journey? The reports all said so.” “An excellent one, Tiko,” Arman said, “and we’ll have a great deal to discuss, you and I. But first things first—we want to get back to our house. Romi and Karik are with us this evening. Can you organise a vehicle?” “Ah, I can, but there’s something I need to report. We had a Prijian woman turn up three days ago, two children in tow. She went to the Rulers’ House first, and Lord Meki ordered her to be detained here for your arrival.” Kei felt Arman’s surprise—and some apprehension. “Detained?” Arman snapped. “What woman? What’s her name?” Tiko scratched his chin, not put out by his Ruler’s irritation. “Well, you see, that’s the problem. She won’t give a name—all she’ll say is that she wants to speak to her son, Retis.” Kei

jumped a little in shock, and Arman’s expression became a deep scowl. “When she was told no one of that name was known in Darshek, she said that you would know who he was, because you’re his father.” Kei swallowed, and placed his hand on his lover’s arm to soothe the already rising anger and turmoil. Karik, who had come close enough to hear the last part of Tiko’s report, gasped a little. “Karik?” Romi asked. “What’s wrong?” Karik keep staring at Tiko as he answered. “It’s my mother...Arman, can it be her?” Arman’s lips pressed into a hard line. “We’ll soon see. Tije, I’m going to ask you to wait for me. Tiko, can you have someone take him somewhere, give him tea and something to eat? Romi...no, you better come along too. Damn her,” he muttered. Kei couldn’t help but agree. Damn Mayl indeed—if this was her.

~~~~~~~~ The last time Karik had felt like this had been back on Andon—for a very different reason, of course, but the effect was the same. Romi only waited for a corporal to be summoned and lead Tije away before asking, “What do you mean, your mother? I thought she was in the Welensi Islands?” “So did I,” Karik said quietly, feeling sick. “Arman? What’s going on?” “I really don’t know, son.” His uncle came to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to see her?” “I have to. You, uh...don’t have to. I know you don’t want to.” “Neither do you, I know. No, we best face this together. Kei, Romi, please, don’t say anything, or interfere. Karik, will you let me take charge?” “Yes, uncle.” Romi came to his side and squeezed his arm. “I’m all right,” he muttered. “You’re not, but I’ll let you handle it. Tiko?” Tiko had been watching them from a discreet distance and now approached. “We gave her one of the married officer’s quarters—it was either that or the lock up, and it wasn’t fair on the boys.” “Boys?” Arman asked. “You said two children—hers?” “So it seems—they call her ‘mama’ anyway. One’s a Prij, the other’s half-Welensian islander by the look of him. You better come and talk to her.” Karik didn’t need to see the grim turn of Arman’s mouth to know this wasn’t something he wanted either. Kei was uncharacteristically solemn, frowning and clearly worried—none of them had any reason to be pleased at this news.

As it turned out, they were taken to the same part of the barracks where he and Romi had their own quarters, along with other partnered but childless officers. Kei kept his hand on Arman’s arm, and Romi did the same for Karik, which was good because he really felt as if he’d been chopped off at the ankles. He’d thought Tije’s appearance in the village had been a shock— that had been nothing. What was his mother doing here? Why here now? One of the quarters had guards posted outside the door, so it was easy to guess where she was. Tiko asked them to wait while he fetched her. A few moments later he emerged from the quarters, a woman with two small children behind her. Karik felt paralysed, unable to move forward, not willing to retreat like a coward even though his courage was fast deserting him, but Mayl had no such reservations. “Retis! Oh, darling, I’ve missed you!” She ran to him and flung her arms around him. Karik simply didn’t know what to do or say —she seemed so happy to see him, yet he didn’t feel anything like the same. She didn’t really look much like the woman he remembered—she’d grown heavier, faded, and lines of either sorrow or temper now marred her mouth and eyes. He’d thought she looked like a goddess almost, the first time he’d seen her. Now she looked rather sour and run down—even her clothes were dingy and not particularly clean. Arman intervened, roughly pulling her off him and thrusting her backward. “Mayl.” He made the name sound like the vilest curse. “What are you doing here and who are these children?” “I wanted to be with my son, Arman,” she said, tilting her chin. “These boys are Retis’s brothers—he’s entitled to meet them.” “B-Brothers?” Karik stuttered in shock, looking down at the two boys, now pressing close to Mayl’s leg. The older child, fair haired and sullen, glared up at him. The younger one, clinging to his brother, had black hair, black eyes but pale skin—he looked no different from the few Welensi islanders Karik had ever encountered. “Yes, your brothers, Retis.” “His name’s Karik,” Arman snapped. “You agreed not to interfere with him seven years ago. Why are you here?” She turned cold eyes on him. “I need my son’s help. How can he deny his own mother when she asks for his assistance? Retis, we need you. I am without a home or a husband.” She fell to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her. “I beg you to help us.” Karik, still frozen in shock, turned a pleading look on Kei for help, but it was Arman again who acted, dragging her to her feet. “Enough theatrics, Mayl. I know Mekus is dead—and you’re a convicted criminal. Karik can’t help you, and I won’t allow him to try. Just take yourself out of Darshek and keep away from us. You’re not wanted.”

She glared at him and shook off his grasp. “Will you condemn two innocent children too? You’d let Retis’s brothers starve?” Kei gave her a peculiar look, then knelt in front of the boys. “Hello,” he said gently in Prijian. “I’m Kei. What’s your name?” he asked the older one. “He is Minan,” Mayl answered. “The other one is Ry-zilim.” Kei ignored her. “How old are you, Minan?” “Six. Go away.” The boy stepped back a little, his arm protectively around his brother. Kei obeyed at once, standing up and moving away from Minan, who continued to watch him warily. “Arman...she has a point. We can’t allow the children to suffer.” “Oh, gods, are you going to fall for this trick?” Arman said, looking at him in disgust. “These aren’t her brats—who’s the father? Mekus? I don’t think so. Where did you pick them up, Mayl?” She slapped him, and he grabbed her fist, crushing it until she winced. Karik was as shocked by that as anything else—Arman had never been violent to a woman in his presence before. His uncle looked terrifying in his anger, forcing his former wife backwards. “That’s a habit I suggest you lose, woman,” he growled. “Assaulting a Ruler is a very serious crime in Darshian, though I suppose having plotted to murder a Prijian sovereign, you don’t rank it very highly.” He let her go with an expression of profound distaste, and she backed away, rubbing her hand with a wounded look at Karik, as if she had expected his protection. The boys clung hard to her, and stared at him too, as he was somehow responsible for all this. But Arman ignored all three of them, turning to Tiko again. “Put this woman under arrest and keep her guarded. If the children don’t appear to be cared for, take them from her—can you arrange someone to check them over?” Tiko snapped to attention. “Already done, my lord. The boys needed a good feed and were sick on the ship but they’re in reasonable health.” “Good. This woman is a convicted criminal of the state of Kuprij, and to be treated as such. The children are wards of the state of Darshian. They can remain with her until we determine their parentage and their best disposition. I will meet my fellow Rulers tomorrow and this will be discussed, but she is to remain under close guard until you hear otherwise. Karik, we’re leaving. Tiko, get her out of my pissing sight.” Mayl looked confused—Arman had given his orders in Darshianese, and she seemed to have learned no more of that tongue than she’d known when Karik had first met her—but as Tiko took her arm and the soldiers moved in, she struggled. “No! Retis, don’t let them hurt your mother! Please, save me and your brothers!” Karik turned around and walked away, trying to ignore her words and the heartrending cries of the children, frightened by the soldiers and their mother’s hysteria. Romi came up silently beside him and put his hand on his shoulder, and they walked out of the yard together.

Then Karik stopped, shaking. “Oh...gods...Romi....” He wanted to vomit, wanted to clap his hands over his ears to stop the sounds of the carrying on behind them. Why now? Romi put his arms around him, rested his chin on Karik’s head, lending his strength and his courage to his pathetic lover. “Shhh, it’s all right,” he murmured, stroking his hand down Karik’s back. “She can’t hurt you and she can’t claim you. Arman will handle it—that’s his job.” But it’s my mother, Karik thought, even as the warm comfort of Romi’s hug worked its healing magic on his soul, and prevented a total collapse of dignity. Or something. What in hells do I do now?

~~~~~~~~ Arman didn’t flinch through all of his former wife’s histrionics and was completely unmoved as she was dragged away, though he regretted the little boys had seen this mess. Kei was distressed but that was almost certainly on behalf of the children. “Come on, Karik needs us,” he said as the door was finally firmly closed behind Mayl, and her nonsense muffled. “Tiko? Is there anyone who can care for those boys?” Tiko frowned. “Well, I dare say I could find some people willing to try, but whether the upset to the children would be worth it, I don’t know. She does seem to be looking after them, and the older one, Minan, doesn’t want anyone hurting his Ma or his brother.” “Of course he doesn’t—he’s a good boy, that’s why,” Kei murmured. “Arman, I suggest you don’t break them up right now. The children are terrified and distrust everyone but her—you won’t help them, not in the short term.” Arman grunted, annoyed at even having to consider Mayl as part of any child’s welfare. “And what are her feelings towards them? Is she their mother?” Kei looked back towards the quarters, frowning. “She...seems uninterested in them, but it wasn’t a situation where her maternal feelings would be on show anyway. The older child is the very image of Karik at that age—it’s uncanny. But that might just be because he’s Prijian. I can’t offer you a definitive answer. You’ll need to question her.” “Oh, I shall, believe me. Thank you, Tiko. Lord Meki knew, didn’t he?” “Yes he did—but he wanted to make sure there was no doubt at all before formally notifying the embassy. Will you tell him now?” “Tomorrow—at least, officially. Tonight, Karik and I need to talk. Uh, you better send for Tije—but not for a few minutes. With the carriage is soon enough.” Tiko saluted. “Right you are, my lord. It’s good to have you back, Arman—but I’m sorry for young Karik.”

“Me too,” Arman said heavily. Just what the lad did not need after all that nastiness last year. “Come on, Kei.” They found Karik being comforted in a private corner by Romi, who had his arms around him. Karik seemed very distressed—who could blame him? Kei went to him immediately and spoke in a low voice. Karik listened and nodded and then broke free from his lover’s embrace, wiping his eyes. He looked as if he was about to be sick, but was bravely pulling himself together. “Sorry, uncle. It’s just a shock. Are those boys my brothers like she says?” “I really don’t know—I’m sorry to say it about your birthmother but she’s a habitual liar and completely untrustworthy, so I do believe her capable of using the children as a shield. But in any event, she’s not your problem. I officially forbid you to attempt to assist her—she’s trying to manipulate you on the basis of a nonexistent relationship. Legally, she signed you off seven years ago.” Karik blinked. “S-signed me off?” This was not the venue Arman would have chosen to discuss this, but it was unfortunately unavoidable. “She, uh, and Mekus—formally relinquished all claim on you and your line. Under Prijian law, and by any measure, you’re not her child any more.” “Relinquished...why?” Kei cleared his throat. “Karik, perhaps we—” “Kei, no,” Arman said firmly. “He needs the truth. Karik, she and Mekus were paid a fortune in compensation for surrendering their claim on you. Money my father paid.” Karik went chalk-pale and Romi’s arms slid around him again. “She sold me?” There really was no nice way of putting it, and Arman didn’t even try. “Essentially yes. I’m sorry, son—I didn’t think at the time you needed to know the details, but it’s time you realised what kind of person she is. She’s not here out of some maternal instinct—she just wants to use you. She only ever wants to use people for what they can give her. With me it was my family’s money and our position. Mekus was the same. You—you can protect her from the consequences of her terrible crimes, or so she thinks.” “Will you send her back to Kuprij?” Romi asked, his face stern. “She’ll be executed, you know that.” “Arman?” Kei said quietly, as Karik flinched in horror, his eyes going impossibly wide. “That’s unthinkable.” “Not to me,” Arman muttered, but then regretted it as he saw Kei’s revolted reaction. “Yes, yes—but I refuse to deal with this now. We’re all tired, we have my other nephew to look after and I will not be bounced into an emotional reaction by that bitch. Uh, sorry, Karik. I keep forgetting she’s your mother.”

Karik straightened up and gave him a haughty glare. “My mother is Jena of Ai-Albon,” he announced, his voice increasingly firm. “My father is Reji of Ai-Albon. My name is Karik, my clan is Ai-Albon.” “Well said,” Romi murmured. “Indeed,” Arman agreed, proud of his nephew’s spirit. “Karik, everyone—we need to talk but for the love of mercy, let’s not do it in front of Tije or Pira. I’ll explain things to Tije as best I can. Romi, please let your colonel know you’re back, and then ask Tiko to bring Tije and the carriage around.” Romi saluted and did as he was asked, leaving Arman with a worried lover and a distressed nephew to deal with. Not how he had wanted their return home to go in the slightest.

~~~~~~~~ It had been a subdued evening, hardly surprisingly. Kei felt very sorry for Tije, who was understandably confused, and trying very hard not to upset anyone. Kei did his best to reassure him, but his first concern had to be for Karik. His nephew tried valiantly not to let any of his distress show in front of Pira and was successful enough that she didn’t seem to realise anything was amiss other than travel fatigue. Kei was grateful for that—it was hard enough to explain to people directly involved in it, and Pira was hardly sophisticated enough to understand all the ramifications. Kei was glad she wasn’t. He wished he wasn’t. In the end, everyone retired early, using weariness as an honest excuse. Kei waited until he and Arman were alone and behind a solid wooden door before he raised the subject. Tired though he was, Arman still sat Kei down and began the nightly ritual of hair grooming. Kei let the familiar, beloved actions soothe him for a few moments, but then said, neutrally as he knew how, “You simply cannot send her back to be hanged, Arman. It violates every principle of Darshianese law, and would be dreadful for Karik.” Arman sighed quietly and continued his careful work. “You assume I know none of this. I’ve actually witnessed the executions of convicted traitors—trust me when I tell you, you’re lucky you don’t know the real details.” Kei winced—he didn’t want to hear more. “I know it violates Darshianese law—but we have also signed extradition treaties with Kuprij. We recognise each other’s laws for certain crimes, and high treason, except in a state of war, is one of the first on the list. Mayl and Mekus arranged for an assassination attempt on Nivuman—can you imagine how many people would have died cruelly and unnecessarily because of that act, brought on by nothing but greed and ambition? Do you think she should just be set free because she’s pleading her belly?” “No, of course not! But...she should be just locked up, reformed....” He stopped, trying to imagine if the viciousness he had sensed in Mayl from years ago, and which wasn’t the least

unchanged that he could see, could ever be reformed. “Killing is always wrong, Arman. To take a life of a person in cold blood, for revenge, can never have any justification.” “It’s what she was going to do, Kei. I don’t believe for a minute it was all Mekus’ planning —she’s not easily led and is perfectly capable of plotting this herself, even without him. That’s why I distrust this business with the children.” “Minan is six,” Kei said slowly. “Which means he was conceived not long after you left Utuk...could she have found it politic to get pregnant?” Arman gently gripped him at the back of his head, at the base of his braid, and made him turn. His expression was sombre. “I more or less accused her of infidelity to Mekus in front of him, cast doubt on his obvious belief that Karik was his.” “So—she might have been in a hurry to make sure he thought he was capable of impregnating her.” Decades-old pain and shame were fouling his lover’s feelings, and Kei very much regretted that this was all coming up again. “She did it to me, why not?” Arman said, sounding more casual than he obviously felt. “If we assume the boy is hers.” “It’s the most likely explanation. I can’t see her looking after children who weren’t hers. I wonder who’s the father of Ry-chi?” “Ry-chi?” Arman frowned at him. “Don’t go getting attached to those children. They very likely will have to be sent back to Kuprij too.” “To be killed?” Kei placed his hand over his heart in shock. “No, Arman!” “No, no—to whoever has claim on them. Mayl still has relatives there. Of course the children won’t be cast adrift—do you think me a monster?” Kei kissed him in apology. “No, of course not...I’m sorry, this is all horrible. Poor Karik. And I pity those boys. Minan’s so frightened and yet he’s trying to be a big brother to Ry-zilim. He deserves better than this.” “Any child does. If I ever had the slightest guilt over removing Karik from her charge, I certainly have none now. I didn’t realise he didn’t know about the death sentence.” “He’s had some dreadful shocks all round. Was it wise to tell him about the legal settlement?” Arman made him turn around again so he could finish the braid. “I don’t want Karik developing some spurious notion of duty towards her, or feeling sorry for her. She doesn’t deserve it. She gave birth to him, but never cared about him, and she doesn’t care about him now. I want him to know that, however brutal it is for the poor lad. He’s strong—he’s dealt with worse. Now I want you to stop pressuring me about Mayl’s fate. I’m a Ruler, and nothing will happen that all eight of us do not agree to. Even if you don’t consider me merciful, I’m sure you have faith in the mercy of the others.”

Kei twisted and put his arms around his lover, ignoring the murmured protests about the messed-up braid. “I saw you in Ai-Vinri, my love. I know you as I know myself, and I know you’re just and merciful. I do trust you. I’ll advise if you want me to, but I won’t pressure you— at least, no more than I would any other Ruler. In my position, that is my duty.” “Yes it is, and we’ll call on your advice. But curse that pissing woman!” he added, shaking his head in anger. “Why couldn’t whatever carried that old bastard off, have killed her too?” “Then there would be two orphans adrift. See this as a chance to save those children. They’re innocent and need protection. I know you’re good at that.” “Hmpf. Stop winding me about your little finger, beloved, because it’s no challenge at all.” Arman pushed the hair away from his neck, and gently kissed the tender skin there, making Kei shiver. They made love then, just using their hands and mouths, too tired to get up to anything more energetic, but needing the connection and the comfort. Arman’s spirit was calmer by the time Kei was lying in his arms, sated and peaceful, and he fell asleep within minutes. Kei wasn’t so quick to drop off. He couldn’t stop himself picking at this dilemma, or thinking about Minan’s brave, frightened little face. It could have easily been Karik instead. He would not allow those boys to be pawns in some manipulative game played by their mother—or by anyone else. And he intended to make sure no one forgot about them either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 8 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Normally Arman would be up and away to his office not long after dawn, so he could work while the House was quiet. He often broke his fast in Meki’s apartments, since his friend and fellow Ruler very much enjoyed the company and the chance to gossip informally. But this morning, he needed to delay so he could take Tije with him, and see Karik and Romi off before they returned to barracks. Karik had spent a sleepless night, that much was certain, and was pale and dull-eyed as he took his place at the table, Romi touchingly protective at his side. “Are you sure you want to return to duty today, nephew?” Arman asked, taking advantage of Tije’s absence to ask. “No one would blame you for delaying a little.” “Would that make it any easier?” Karik asked sullenly. “I’ve got things to do—we all have. But when will you be...interviewing her?” “I’ll speak to the other Rulers this morning, and then I need to formally advise the ambassador. I plan to have her interrogated this afternoon, though whether I will be present or not, I don’t know.” “I want to be there.” “No, I can’t allow that. Not yet anyway.” “Why not?” his nephew snapped. “Why are you trying to protect me?” “Because I love you.” Karik went very still. “And I won’t let her hurt you or anyone else I love. Understand me, nephew mine?” Karik’s jaw worked a little, and Romi slipped his arm discreetly around his waist. “Yes, uncle mine,” he said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.” “No, son, I am. You have no idea how much I am. Romi? As your boss, I’m ordering you both to take it easy today, and if you want to come back tonight, you only have to show up.” “Understood,” Romi said. He looked ragged too—Arman doubted he’d got much sleep either. “Eat up, Karik, then we’d better go.” Arman finished serving their hotcakes as Kei came in with Tije. Pira emerged to scold them all for not waking her, but for once, let Arman serve her breakfast without taking over from him. The meal was completed in a subdued manner—everyone seemed tired this morning. Everyone but Tije, that was—the lad was bright-eyed and excited about going to the House. Arman wished escorting his nephew around was the only thing he faced today, but he knew it wasn’t. Karik asked him to come to the gate with them as he and Romi left, and then stopped to look at him earnestly. “Arman—if you speak to her, will you at least come and see me afterwards? Tell me what’s going on?”

“Of course. But please don’t attempt to contact her today. Off you go.” He watched them stride off down the road, where they’d hitch a lift to the barracks. He turned and found Kei standing in the doorway. “What a mess,” his lover said quietly. “He’s a mess.” “Yes, I know. It’s my job to try and sort it out. Are you and Tije ready?” Thanks the gods Tijus’s boy had his father’s good sense, Arman thought, as they walked towards the academy. Mayl’s appearance put Tije in a very difficult position, as he was honourbound to report her presence to the Prijian authorities, and he was personally indignant she had dared to show her face in Darshian. Fortunately, he was also aware how much it hurt his cousin, and hadn’t asked as many of the hard questions as he might have done. It was only a conversation delayed, Arman knew, but at least it was giving him some space to deal with things as he wished. Kei had agreed to take Tije to the academy in the morning, which left Arman free to conduct his meeting with the other Rulers in privacy. First—Meki. He found his friend in his private office, and was glad to see him in good health. Meki was seventy-four—a living treasure, officially the longest-serving Ruler Darshian had ever had, though he was semi-retired now and had been for some time. Arman honoured him for his service to their country, but also considered him one of his closest friends—a father-figure, a mentor and someone to whom he often turned for advice and wisdom. He needed that now. Meki greeted him solemnly. “I wish your home-coming hadn’t been blighted in this way, Arman. I chose to treat the woman as an unidentified alien until your return, but I knew this was going to be a problem.” “It is. I’ll speak to Tir Kamus later this morning. You’re aware of her legal status in Kuprij?” “I’ve been making enquiries discreetly,” he said, nodding as he opened a file on his desk. Notes on Mayl, Arman had no doubt. “She’s under sentence of death. That makes things very difficult.” “Yes, I know. Kei’s already started pleading for her life. The irony does not escape either of us, I assure you.” Meki shook his head. “Nor does it escape me. We have to send her back, yet we can’t send her back. Square that for me, because I can’t.” “I was rather hoping you could do that for me,” Arman said with a wry smile. “This could destroy so much of the good work we’ve done with Kuprij. I thought I’d be presenting you with a triumphant report of the negotiations, the deals, the agreements, the good will—all truly impressive, if I say so myself. And this stupid, venal woman could wreck the lot, just by being here.” “Yes, she could. What of the children? Are they Prijian?” “One seems to be. I’ve yet to have any proof they’re hers.”

Meki tapped his pencil against the file in front of him. “If they are, would that be grounds to seek clemency from His Serenity?” “Uh...actually, in former times, the children, even the grandchildren, would also be executed —expunging the line was a popular punishment.” “Blessed gods!” Meki put his hand over his heart, and Arman winced a little, regretting that he’d put any stress on that always delicate organ. “Surely they wouldn’t?” “Nivuman isn’t that bloodthirsty—though the law lies on the books, I assure you. But the answer is no—they don’t help. Nor should they. Her crime is one of the worst. People called me a traitor but I never sought the life of the sovereign, nor of any Prij.” “No, quite.” Meki drummed his fingers as he considered it. Arman sipped his tea, and wondered if it was wrong of him to hope Mayl had suffered a heart attack overnight. It would make things so much simpler. “We need the others,” Meki said finally. “This requires more brains than the two of us can provide.” But even the collective sharp minds of the other six Rulers—Peika joining in by Neka’s good graces—could not come up with a solution that would satisfy the demands of Darshianese ethics and Prijian law. Nera did point out that if the boys were indeed Mayl’s, then by law, Karik could claim guardianship over them if Mayl were forced to return to Kuprij. “No law, no agreement, would compel us to hand them over,” she said, and Arman agreed. It did not, however, resolve the question of Mayl herself. Nera rightly raised the problem of the boys’ welfare—everyone agreed the barracks were no place for two small children. There was some sympathy with the idea that they should be removed from Mayl’s care. Arman was asked to investigate the situation further and to speak to the Prijian ambassador, thrusting the problem, albeit politely, at him, which he supposed was only fair—not only was he their resident Prijian expert, he was Mayl’s ex-husband. This entire mess had only come to Darshian because of him, and he accepted he was the one who needed to solve it. The Prijian ambassador was invited to morning refreshments, ostensibly to meet a visiting senator’s son. Kei and Meki were both present as Tir Kamus was introduced to Tije, and offered his respects to Tije and his illustrious father. Then Kei discreetly led the lad away to meet the other Rulers and to be taken safely back to the academy. While Tije would one day be handling matters of this gravity, Arman very much doubted Tijus wanted his beloved son and heir involved in this murky business. “We had many glowing reports of your visit to Utuk, my lord Sei Arman. Already invitations are coming in for you to return,” Kamus said with a smile. “Yet...am I right in suspecting my lord Meki’s presence indicates this was not purely a social call?” The man was clever and worldly. Little got past him, which was what made him so good at his job. “No, sadly, Tir Kamus, it is not. Four days ago, an unknown Prijian woman arrived in

Darshek. Lord Meki, suspecting her true identity, had her held under guard until my return. I have confirmed his suspicion—she’s Sei Mayl, my former wife, and wife of the late former senator Mekus.” Kamus hissed in a breath. “The traitor? Here? Why?” “Because her son—at least her first son—resides in Darshek.” Arman quickly recounted the distasteful business, emphasising Karik’s legal status and his own, to Kamus’s obvious disapproval, though of whom he most disapproved, it wasn’t clear. “The woman is trying to save herself by appealing to her son, and pleading the existence of the children.” “She must be returned to face justice,” Kamus said, his expression severe. “The children, we would not claim—under our law, they have no status as Prijian citizens. Unless adopted by one of us in good standing, they are stateless.” “They’re not, for they’ll be welcome here, regardless of parentage,” Meki said somewhat disapprovingly. “Tir Kamus, the Darshianese state forbids the death penalty under all circumstances. We can’t return her to you to be hanged.” “My lord, under the terms of the extradition treaty co-signed by you three years ago, she must be sent back. Failure to do so will constitute a breach of that treaty and even be considered an act of war. She tried to kill our sovereign!” Meki waved his hand to ask Kamus to calm down. “The heinousness of her crime isn’t in dispute, ambassador, nor is the right of the Prijian state to pursue wrong-doers across national borders. However, the laws of this land will not allow someone to be executed. We can’t allow someone to be executed as a result of an official act of this state either. Do you not recognise the dilemma?” Kamus’ aristocratic features became severe. “I recognise it and dismiss it, my lord. She’s not your problem. Return her and we will deal with her.” Arman felt it was time to intervene. “Tir Kamus, Darshianese law applies to all on our soil. Just as the Darshianese treated their prisoners of war according to their own ethics, so must Sei Mayl be treated.” “But the treaty!” “Yes, I know. However, there’s no need for haste here. She’s under guard and will remain so. His Serenity is a man of compassion and humanity. Can not enquiries be made to see if there’s any honourable compromise? At the very least, the welfare of the children should be investigated properly—if there are relatives who’d take them, they should be given an opportunity to do so, if that’s what is best for the boys.” “I can make enquiries, my lord,” Kamus said stiffly, “but I very much doubt the situation regarding this traitor will change. His Serenity is a noble and compassionate man indeed, but she tried to kill him and drag our country into a civil war. Can there be a greater crime against a state?”

“No, Tir Kamus, there cannot. But please try to understand the basis of the Darshianese state depends on this very strongly held ethic—violating that would be even more serious than murdering one of the Rulers.” “I’ll put that to His Serenity, my lord,” Kamus said with a bow. “I very much regret your return to Darshek has been marred by this business.” “As do I. Thank you, Kamus, for your patience.” And aren’t we all so very polite, Arman thought, while the fate of nations and a greedy, faithless woman hangs in the balance? Meki remained as Kamus left. “They won’t budge,” he said. “How can they?” “How can we? She’s canny, though—the children mean she can grab sympathy she doesn’t deserve.” “Ah, yes. Arman, you’d better speak to her. We need a full and honest story about those boys, and why she’s here. If there are any mitigating circumstances, or anything which might cast doubt on her guilt—the smallest crumb—we need to hear it. Gods, why did we not think about this when we signed that treaty?” Probably because no one dreamed someone of Mayl’s ilk would dare enter Darshian territory, Arman thought ruefully. He wished now he’d been more involved in the legal niceties, but he’d been set in charge of the diplomacy instead. “It was a failure, certainly, and one we’re all going to regret. But for now, would you care to join Kei and me for lunch with my nephew? The poor lad hasn’t had the best start to his stay in Darshek, and I’d like to make amends for that.”

~~~~~~~~ Romi wished he’d taken Arman’s suggestion and kept Karik off work today. He’d known why his lover had wanted to be busy, but in reality, he’d done little more since they’d arrived at the barracks but stare into space and snap at anyone who came near him. Fortunately, their team was still on the course at the academy and would be for the next two weeks. He and Karik were supposed to be planning the next phase of training, in preparation for the trip to Andon in early spring. He himself had had plenty to get on with, and had tried to let Karik have privacy to deal with his thoughts, and frankly, to take it easy after having slept not a wink the night before. But he couldn’t help but hear every quiet sigh, and worry about the fact Karik looked like reheated urs shit and was eating his heart out, thinking about the woman and the children less than two hundred yards from where they were sitting. Right now, Karik wasn’t even pretending to work, looking distractedly out the window and waiting. Every time someone came into or even just past their office, he jumped, then scowled as if defying anyone to comment on his edginess. There was nothing Romi could do—he just hoped Arman would hurry the hells up.

The door opened again, and again Karik started, but this time, it was justified since it was his uncle who appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Romi, Karik—any chance of some tea?” As Arman came in and sat down, Romi called out the door for a soldier to bring tea for three. Then he came back and sat at his desk, looked at Karik’s uncle—Arman looked weary, but with life, not physically. “What did she say?” “Mostly a load of rot and sentiment,” Arman said, grimacing. “Nothing that would induce a sensible person to reassess her guilt, though she’d have people believe she was the innocent victim of Mekus’ machinations. So far as I know, that lie was examined and rejected, quite correctly, at the time.” “There wasn’t a trial though. She wasn’t examined in court,” Romi pointed out. Karik was saying nothing, for now. “She and Mekus were tried in their absence, and the matter thoroughly examined. We can’t say they were treated unfairly in that regard. Nivuman took great care to ensure he was not accused of simply creating a vendetta against his predecessor’s consort’s family. Given that there was a claimant to the throne from Mekus’s line, he had to be scrupulous, and he was. She’s guilty, no doubt about it.” Karik stirred. “Uh...Arman...did she say who my father was?” Arman stared, completely taken aback. Romi groaned quietly—this wasn’t how this should have been raised. “Er...are you sure you want to talk about this here, nephew?” “Why? Is he the gardener after all?” Karik’s pale features were now almost bloodless as he glared at his uncle. “Tell me the truth. I’m so sick of people hiding things from me! You never told me about the law suit, no one told me she was condemned to die—what else are you hiding from me, Arman?” “Nothing, Karik. I don’t know the name of your father any more than you do. I...thought you would be happier assuming it was me. I apologise.” There was a tap at the door. Romi rose to collect the tea, then closed the door again, locking it for privacy. His lover and his friend were staring at each other like defending thurls. He quietly poured tea, and handed the mugs to them. “Look—both of you, calm down. Karik, Arman was trying to spare you pain, and from what I can see, he did that while you needed it. Arman, Karik needs to know what you know now. He can handle it. He’s not a child, not by any means.” “Agreed. But bear in mind Mayl is a liar. I have no proof, not yet, of what she says. She wouldn’t consent to a mind-speaker verifying things, though I can probably insist on that at some point.” “Do you believe her?” Arman took a sip of his tea, and took his time answering. “It sounds convincing. But she is a practiced liar, and utterly without conscience. However, this is what she told me, and I apologise in advance because it’s an unedifying tale. At first she tried to claim that Mekus was your and

Minan’s father—I forced her to admit this was not the case. She still insists you really are full brothers, though she now says the father is the former senator Cirin.” “Do I know that name...?” Karik asked slowly, looking to Romi for enlightenment. “Senator Cirin—isn’t he the one who helped Mekus and Mayl escape Utuk?” There had been a lot of talk about it when Romi had been stationed on Kuplik. “Yes, that’s the one. Cirin comes from a good family, and from what I know of him, is a decent kind of fellow. He’s younger than Mayl—and it seems she seduced him when he was but seventeen. She was carrying on an affair with him and with Mekus while married to me—who knows if that’s the limit of it?” Arman’s lip curled in distaste. “However, her tale is at least credible, if disgusting. She also admitted Mekus became suspicious after I pointed out the obvious anomaly that he had not managed to make her pregnant during their marriage, so perhaps you weren’t his son as he believed.” Karik clenched his fist. “You mean...he also thought I was his son and he still sold me off? Didn’t anyone want me at all?” Romi rose, dragged a chair close to his lover, and took him into his arms. “I want you, love,” he murmured, stroking Karik’s hair. “Many people want you.” “I’m so very sorry, Karik. You know we love you. Those people...words can’t express my feelings, they truly can’t.” Arman looked as pale as Karik now. “But as I suspected, you are not Mekus’s son.” “Tell me about Cirin.” “Yes. Uh.” Arman cleared his throat, sipped his tea before continuing. Romi had rarely seen him so ill at ease. “Mayl...approached Cirin and recommenced their affair which had stopped some years before, and Minan was conceived, allaying Mekus’s suspicions. Unfortunately for Cirin, he seems to have truly loved Mayl, and when she and Mekus were discovered in their plotting, he got them onto a ship, and provided funds and contacts in the Welensi Island. Now this much I do know, for it was investigated in Utuk—he didn’t know the extent of their plans, for that was only uncovered later. He believed they were simply under threat from factions loyal to Nivuman and hostile to Mekus. For that reason, His Serenity spared him, and merely stripped him and his line of their senatorial rank. He could have been hanged, or worse, but it was accepted he was duped as much as anyone else had been.” “So he’s just a pissing fool,” Karik said bitterly, his voice shaking. “Is he still alive? Does he even know I exist? What about Minan? And the other boy?” “Slow down, nephew—” “I’m not your nephew! Tije’s your nephew! I’m no damn kin to you or anyone! I’m...just...goods.”

Romi held him tight again, and let him muffle his sobs against his shoulder. Arman was the most distressed Romi had ever seen him, and looked like he needed a good hug too, but Romi only had one set of arms. “Shhh,” he whispered into Karik’s hair. “Don’t let her do this to you.” “Listen to Romi, Karik, please—don’t let Mayl destroy the friendships and relations you’ve built up over so long. I know why you want to reject me—but please, don’t reject Kei or your mother and father. I beg you, ne...Karik. Please.” Where’s Kei when we need him? Romi thought desperately, though this would have been tormenting for a soul-toucher. “Karik, come on. Pull yourself together. Look what you’re doing to Arman. Does he deserve this? Come on, love, don’t give in.” Karik still shuddered a little. It should have been handled better, Romi thought bitterly. He should have insisted Karik stayed at Kei’s house and received this news there, then Arman would have someone with him too. The shaking eased, then Karik pushed himself away almost angrily, wiping his eyes. “Gods,” he muttered. “I’m such a child.” “You’re not, and I apologise,” Arman said with a stiff bow. “No—I’m sorry, uncle,” Karik said, then rose quickly and went to Arman to give him a hug. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” They embraced for some time, Arman’s face hidden in Karik’s shoulder, and it was certain he hid more than his anguish. Now Romi knew why Arman had kept this secret for so long. It was all too painful to bear. He moved a chair closer to Arman, and after a little while, Karik used it, though he still kept hold of his uncle’s hand—something that Arman seemed very grateful for. “There’s one positive aspect of it,” he said finally, smiling tightly at his nephew. “You’ve sometimes said you wanted a brother—and now you do.” “How many? I mean, what about Ry-zilim, and does my...I mean, Cirin have other children?” “And are you absolutely sure the boys are really hers?” Romi added. “I believe they are—the behaviour of the boys tends to support that. Minan’s birth should have been recorded in Utuk. Ry-zilim’s father is a Welensi islander Mayl had an affair with—you have to understand I am presenting my interpretation of what she told me. She dressed everything up in romantic language, making out she was this helpless victim of passion and so on. I simply don’t believe any of that,” Arman said, his mouth pressed into a deeply disapproving line. “I think she was trying to make a position on the islands for herself that didn’t depend on Mekus because he was unpopular, and they were losing what few friends they had among the expatriates. Mekus died six months ago, but Mayl and the boys were already living under this man’s protection—he’s some kind of tribal leader—until she persuaded someone on a trading ship to let

her come to Darshek. Both boys think Mekus was their Pa, apparently, despite the evidence of Ry-zilim’s appearance.” “What a revolting story,” Romi murmured. “So this Cirin might have Minan if asked? If we need to find a home for him?” “I doubt it—and Karik, again I apologise for the pain it causes, but I doubt he’ll want you to contact him. For a start, I think he most likely believes Mekus is father to you and Minan, and for second, if he acknowledged either of you, he’d lose his wife and children. They’re all he has left, now he’s lost his rank. Though I don’t doubt he’d love you, if he knew you.” “How could he not?” Romi said, smiling at his lover. Karik smiled back a little uncertainly. “But you said nothing she’d told you changes the situation. What are the Rulers going to do?” Arman shook his head. “Delay and hope for a miracle. It’s all we can do. Nivuman might grant a measure of clemency but it would be more than the populace would accept—he already granted her a reprieve by not sending troops to the Welensi islands and dragging them back to face their sentence. She’s been stupid enough to break cover—he can’t ignore that. But we can’t send her back to die. The only sure thing is that we can and will insist that the children stay. The Prij don’t want them, and even this Cirin wouldn’t have a higher claim than Karik, not without a legal battle it’s guaranteed he won’t want.” He rubbed his eyes, looking old and exhausted. “Nephew, Romi—can I beg your kindness and ask you to come home tonight? Kei will want to see you, and it would make me feel much better if you did.” Karik put his arms around his uncle again. “Of course,” he said. “Arman, I’m sorry.” “You, lad, have no need to apologise. You’re the only real innocent in this whole business. You and those two unfortunate boys.” “What will happen to them? Will you let her keep them here? The quarters aren’t really suitable for children.” Arman sighed, and picked up his neglected tea. “I know—I need to speak to people. My feeling is that they should be removed for their own safety. She’s not got a maternal bone in her body, and though they’re devoted to her, she cares nothing for them. As their brother, you’ll be involved in the decision, if you wish to be. If you don’t, then no one will force you. But right now, you’re the presumptive guardian.” Karik’s cheeks reddened a little as he blinked in surprise. “Me? A guardian?” “Certainly. If you don’t want to be, then we’ll find someone else. But Lord Meki is ready to declare her unfit to keep the children simply on the basis of her criminal record. In theory, this man in the Welensi Islands could take the younger child, but we need to keep them together.” He got to his feet. “But I think I need to discuss this with other people, Kei being the first one. Come home, nephew. I find myself in need of my family around me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 9 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Karik stood too, putting his hand on his uncle’s arm in silent apology for the hurt he’d caused. It had been unforgivable to spit in Arman’s face like that—it wasn’t as if Arman had made his mother the biggest slut in Kuprij. Arman gave him a small, sad smile at the gesture, but then stiffened, apparently concentrating on something. Karik recognised the symptoms of a man talking to a mind-speaker and stayed quiet so Arman could do what he had to. It didn’t take long, and then Arman shook his head, looking rueful. “Ah—it seems Kei was worried about me and has been eavesdropping on our conversation. Saves time in explanations at least.” “Oh.” Karik wasn’t delighted that Kei had heard his tantrum, but he couldn’t blame the man for being worried about his family. “What does he say?” “He says the thing we all need is Jes. And Seiki agrees with him.” Karik grinned despite himself. “That’s a wonderful idea—uh, but what about Tije? Doesn’t he disapprove?” “I think, faced with the reality, his opinions are likely to soften considerably. Anyway, we’re all invited to their house for supper, so I’m going to abuse my position, order a calash, and take us all over there. Nothing like the wholesomeness of a three-year-old to take the taste of all this away,” he added, sounding very much as if he wished he could spit the memory out of his mouth and his mind. “Unless you would rather we didn’t?” “No—I want to see her and Seiki and Mila. Tije just better not say anything—I’m not in the mood.” Romi came up and kissed his forehead. “Arman, your nephew’s had some warning, I presume?” “Kei will explain. The lad’s not insensitive, Karik. Be fair. He’s done his best to understand, and he wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone.” “I hope not,” Karik muttered, fully prepared to thump Tije if he even breathed the suggestion of an insult about his daughter. Gods—he had a half-brother Jes’s age! And a full brother only a little older. He couldn’t take it all in. He needed...Kei, Jes, and more hugs, he guessed. And he had another father—that made three, he thought wryly, though he’d not really considered Arman a father, though he was in law. At least in Prijian law. No wonder Arman looked like he was starting a migraine—this was hellaciously complicated. They were cutting out early, but not even Romi’s stern colonel would have argued with Arman. Things might have been different if the team was in the barracks, but they weren’t, for

which Karik was desperately grateful. He was so tired, and if Seiki hadn’t invited them over, he’d have gone for an early night, but nothing would be better than seeing his darling girl and his friends. As the calash took them quickly through the hot afternoon sun along the harbour road and past the Rulers’ House, Arman was rather distant, not paying either of them much attention. Dealing with Mayl had to have been unpleasant under any circumstances—she’d always been so vile about him, and that was before Karik had known about the sleazy legal deal. Gods, no wonder Arman had been in a temper on that journey home from Utuk. Karik looked back on that time and thought it a minor miracle Arman hadn’t thrown him into the sea. Romi kept hold of him the entire ride, and though Karik felt ashamed his lover had seen his poor behaviour once again, he was eternally grateful Romi had been there to support him. Never alone again, he thought, looking at Romi with love in his heart and in his eyes. It made such a difference. Romi gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be all right, love. Nothing we can’t handle. We’ve faced worse.” “Yes, we have.” He leaned his head on Romi’s shoulder—Arman gave them a brief fond smile, then resumed his rather distracted stare into nothingness. Maybe he was talking to Kei. Or maybe he was just trying to make sense of this situation. It would distract anyone. Kei, Mila and Jes were waiting at the door for them. Though Kei gave him a quick smile, he really only had eyes for Arman, going straight to him and embracing him tightly. Karik let them have their time—he had someone claiming him. “Pa! Romi-Pa! Home!” He grinned at his daughter, and knelt so she could run into his arms. “Yes, we’re home, sweetheart.” Oh, gods, he loved this child. She smelled clean and good, like purity incarnate. “Have you been good while I’ve been away, Jes?” “Yes, I have. Tell him, Ma.” Mila was even bigger now, and holding her back as if it ached. “She’s been pretty good. Mostly good,” she added with a wink. “I’m glad to hear that. You still have your doll, I see. Have you named him yet?” “Uh huh,” she said, nodding vigorously, holding it up for the world to see. It was showing signs of use, but holding up well. Romi had done such a good job on it. “This is Jem-chi.” He stared at her in surprise. “Jem? I knew a Jembis once. Where did you get that name, darling?” Had Gyo mentioned it in her hearing when he was up last? But she couldn’t have remembered it. But his child had a simpler, if more unlikely explanation. “He just told me,” she said, nodding firmly, before taking his hand and tugging. “Come in, come in now. Everyone come in now.”

“I think we have to go inside,” Karik said, grinning up at Romi. He glanced over at Kei and Arman—they were still holding each other, but now watching Jes queening it up, Kei smiled a little. “Well, come on, what are you waiting for, Jei-chi?” He’d forgotten, for the moment, that there was one more guest, and was slightly shocked to see Tije sitting calmly in the kitchen, peeling tubers and talking to Seiki. His ‘cousin’ smiled politely as they came in, and stood. “That’s Tijiki,” Jes announced. “He’s got no hair, Pa. Why?” Karik grinned. “Um, well, maybe he lost it in a fight with a carcho, or even a tewi. How did you lose your hair, Tijiki? Did a tuktuk steal it?” Tije raised an eyebrow at his insolence, then knelt down so he was at Jes’s level. “I’ll tell you, but it’s a secret so you can’t tell anyone else.” He motioned her forward, then whispered in her ear, while she smothered giggles with her hands. When he was done, he stood up. “Now you mustn’t tell anyone. Promise?” “I promise! Poor Tijiki, no hair!” “Don’t be rude, Jes,” Seiki said, then turned to her lover. “Darling, sit down, and I’ll get you some tea. Everyone sit down, we’re almost done.” Arman insisted on making the tea and serving it. Jes sat on Karik’s lap—from time to time she would look at Tije and giggle, something he made worse by pulling faces. Well, he was closer to her age, Karik thought, feeling a lot more relaxed about the competition for Jes’s attention than he would have expected. Tije wasn’t being overtly hostile to any of them, whatever private reservations he had—but those couldn’t be too great, or Seiki wouldn’t be so nice to him. Mila still wasn’t having an easy time of her pregnancy, and Seiki was protective of her, waiting on her hand and foot and making sure Jes didn’t jump on her too much. Kei suggested they went outside, since he was sure the fresh air would do them all good—he was looking with some concern at Mila, and as they walked out behind the others, Karik whispered to his uncle, “Is everything all right?” “Yes. She’s just been suffering nausea, not uncommon even this late in the pregnancy as you know. I’ve suggested she rests more, and eats smaller, more regular meals. But she’s fine. Are you?” “No. But I’m glad I’m here. Kei, I was awful to Arman.” Kei stopped, then patted his shoulder. “He understands, nephew. We’ll talk later but I felt you all needed some quiet time. Try not to let it prey on your mind.” “Easier said.” “Yes, I know,” his uncle said kindly. “Go play with your child.” Seiki and Mila had found themselves a comfortable place on a bench. Arman, Romi and Tije were already playing catch with Jes’s ball, tossing it to her and waiting for her to choose who to throw it back to. She had more than enough people to amuse her, so Karik sat down next to Seiki. She turned to him with a worried expression. “Are you mad at me?”

He kissed her cheek. “No. Relieved. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Kei all that or listening to it again.” He realised she would know the truth. “Is Mayl lying or not?” “I can’t answer that, Karik, you know I can’t.” “But you know, don’t you?” “Yes. And once I get the correct consent, I’ll tell you. I’m so sorry, darling. She seems such a horrible person and you’re so lovely.” “She didn’t raise me. I now know how lucky I am. Seiki—I have two brothers.” She patted his hand. “Yes, I know. I don’t know what Arman should do. As a mother, the idea of someone taking her children away seems so cruel, and yet...I’ve seen into her mind and....” She shuddered. “She doesn’t care for them at all. She hates them for needing her, especially the littlest one.” Karik could scarcely believe anyone could resent children so small and helpless. “Will she hurt them? We can’t let her.” “I don’t think she will. Not physically anyway.” She looked over at where her daughter was giggling madly because she had ‘fooled’ Arman into thinking she was going to throw the ball. “But she’d never do that with them. It’s so sad. The older one? He’s been upset because he lost his ‘father’ but he really misses Zexu—that’s Ry-chi’s Pa. He was the only parental figure in their lives who was really fond of them, and then their Ma took them away from him. They both miss him.” “Maybe we should send them back to him. “ But even as he had that thought, he knew that wouldn’t be possible. Minan wouldn’t be adopted by the islanders, from everything he’d heard about that race—and the small Prijian expatriate community wouldn’t want him either. “They’ll find a home, Karik. Kei and Arman are determined about that.” She smiled suddenly. “Your cousin’s a really nice young man. I remember him from the first time—but he’s got so tall and handsome.” “Don’t let madam hear that,” he teased. “He’s not as good-looking as she is,” Seiki said, her cheeks dimpling. “It’s good to have you back, Karik. I just wish this wasn’t happening.” “Me too. But don’t fret about it.” The only blight on supper was Mila having to excuse herself early, unable to face the meal. Seiki took over in the kitchen, while Kei spoke to Mila in her room, feeding her medicinal tea and reassuring her, then came back and announced she was asleep. “Kei, is she going to be all right?” Seiki asked, keeping her voice low so Jes, sitting on Arman’s lap and chatting happily, couldn’t hear.

“Absolutely. This is normal, Seiki, though I know it’s worrying. That tea will help and we can adjust her diet a little. Mainly, she should take things easier. But the baby is fine and other than the nausea, so is she.” Seiki smiled with relief. “Thank you. I get so worried, and with you away, I never really felt completely sure.” “Ah, I’ll have to speak to my people about their bedside manners if they can’t reassure a young mother. It’s a tough job, but they should be up to it,” he added with a grin. “Now, let me help you.” The subject of Mayl and all the painfulness of that topic was kept firmly out of the conversation. Seiki wanted to hear all about the journey from their own lips, even though she’d been in contact many times over the past few months. She drew Tije out shamelessly, and before long he was her devoted creature as much as any of them. It was so funny, really, considering Tije had apparently thought she was being deceived by her lover and her friend, and had been feeling sorry for Seiki, or so Kei had said. Now, between her daughter and herself, Seiki had won him over completely. Karik could even imagine him going back to Utuk and preaching the benefits of assisted insemination for the infertile, and the mischief-maker in him wished he could see it happen. It would shake that damn society up, for sure. But his opinion on Prijian society was somewhat out of date, because if what Kei had reported was true, the society was already shaken up well and truly. And Tije was surely a sign of that, or at least of what it could be. Karik had to admit if Tije did represent the new thinking in Kuprij, then Prijian society might be a far better place than he could ever have imagined it. When the meal was over, Seiki put her daughter to bed, and checked on her lover. When she came back, she reported Mila was now sleeping peacefully for which Seiki was very grateful, and then she took Romi, Kei and Arman into the sitting room, leaving the ‘infants’ as she cheekily put it, to clear up. “Hmpf, infants,” Tije said with disgust. “Back home, I’m the oldest.” “Back home, I’m the only one,” Karik said, rolling his sleeves up. “I always wished I’d had a brother or sister.” “Now you do. How does it feel?” Karik looked at the man, not sure how honest he wanted to be. “Odd. It doesn’t feel real. Like the fact in theory my biological father isn’t Pa, but in reality, Pa is Pa. Tije, um....” “Yes?” “Arman...isn’t my real father. I don’t know what you know or what you’ve been told but...he’s not.” Tije blushed. “Um...actually, Kei...explained. He, um, explained a lot of things. About Mayl. And uncle Arman.... He said it wasn’t something any of you were happy about. I’m sorry—I mean, I’m sorry if I caused any offence or said anything or—”

Karik held up his hand. “It’s all right. I just didn’t want you to think less of Arman for sending me away to my parents. To Jena and Reji, I mean. Gods, these conversations always end up with me trying to find about three words for the same thing!” “You mean like Jes with two mothers?” “And three grandmothers, and two Pas and the gods alone know how many ‘aunts’, ‘uncles’ and ‘cousins’...see, for me, family isn’t just about blood.” Tije nodded as he drew hot water off from the cistern and into a bowl. “I think I understand. It’s like Mari—she’s not married to Grandfather, but she’s been there all my life. She’s part of us. Were you ever sorry you weren’t uncle Arman’s son? He’s such a wonderful man—if my father weren’t my father, then I’d want him.” He flushed again. “Um...that didn’t come out right....” “I know what you mean. Sometimes I’m sorry because he is such a good man—but no one’s better than my Pa.” “My father is,” Tije said, tilting his chin defiantly. Karik grinned at his pride, and decided to tease. “No he’s not. I’d fight you over it except it’d be a waste of time and you’d lose anyway.” “That’s what you think—I’ve been trained with sword and lance.” “I can beat that—I was trained by the meanest corporal in Darshian. And she’s a damn dirty fighter.” “She? You fought with a woman?” “Sure did. She left me black and blue.” He laughed at Tije’s horrified expression. “Jou can outfight almost every man she ever meets, except Romi and that’s only because he outweighs her by fifty pounds and is a foot taller and an even dirtier fighter than she is. She’d kick your arse from here to Utuk.” Tije pursed his lips primly. “I would never hit a woman. It’s dishonourable.” “Then she’d kick you all the way to the Welensi Islands. Then laugh at you while you lay there and wondered how she did it.” “She sounds a complete harridan,” Tije muttered, picking up a pot to scrub. Karik scrapped off some leavings into the scraps bucket. “She’s wonderful. I’m still hoping she’ll join us up here. She was great in Andon—she beat the crap out of these huge tribal men, and they couldn’t work out how this little tiny woman dumped them on their arses. It was really funny.” “I wish I could go to Andon,” Tije said wistfully. “Father would never agree—it’s much too dangerous.” “It is. But you have to make your own decisions. Like Arman did. I did too. My parents don’t like me travelling, but they’ve accepted my right to live my life.” Finally, he amended wryly to himself.

“It’s different for me. I’m the only heir. If I don’t take up my father’s seat in the senate, no one else will. We need good senators in Kuprij. If only the self-interested rule, then you end up with bad government.” Tije kept surprising him with the maturity of his views, the seriousness with which he took his future responsibility. Karik admired it in him. “That’s true. But you have to want to do the job. If you hate it, then you won’t be good at it.” “I don’t think I’ll hate it. I just...want to do some other things before I take up the position. Like Father did, or uncle Arman.” “Then do it.” He turned so he could face the other man, and folded his arms. “Do what you love, even if it kills you. But do it well or it’s not worth doing. Be the best—whether it’s a senator or a stable manager.” Tije looked rather startled at his passion, but then smiled. “You’ll make Jes a wonderful father, Karik. She’s a very lucky child.” Karik smiled back. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself—for a Prij.” “Neither are you.” Karik just snorted. “Come on, the longer we take, the more gossip those bastards will swap about us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 10 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kei found Arman’s office already full of people by the time he arrived. No one looked particularly cheerful, but then the question of taking two small children away from their mother on a permanent basis wouldn’t make anyone jump for joy. Karik held Seiki’s hand, and their friend looked very solemn indeed. Arman had his severest expression on, and Lady Nera, usually so serene, seemed deeply upset. Tir Kamus clearly disapproved of the entire business. “I take it things went poorly,” Kei said, coming in and sitting down in front of his lover’s desk. “I think that’s a fair assessment.” Arman signalled to the attendant. “Close the door, please. We’re not to be disturbed under any circumstances.” The servant bowed, and left them alone. “Kei, Seiki’s only told us a little, but if you could start again, dear?” Seiki cleared her throat. “As instructed by the Rulers, and with Neka’s consent, I can reveal to you what my Gift has shown me of Mayl’s thoughts. The gist of what she told you, Arman, is true—although it’s a far less romantic tale than she makes it appear.” Arman nodded—this was no surprise. “She pretty much despises all the people she’s slept with, including Mekus, Cirin, and the Welensi islander, Zexu—she sees them as fools who she has manipulated to help her get what she wanted. But Cirin is Karik’s and Minan’s father, and so far as she knows, Zexu is Ryzilim’s.” She coughed. “Um...she...may not be entirely sure on that point.” “I think we understand, dear,” Kei said gently. The ambassador and Lady Nera were utterly horrified. “Do you think we can remove the children safely?” “Though I want them away from her as much as any of you,” Seiki said, “my honest opinion as a mother and a teacher of small children is that they’re simply too distressed for now. She’s got them quite worked up and frightened, and totally dependent on her. They miss Zexu, and even Mekus, and their home on the islands which is the only one either of them ever knew. They were happy there and it was only her selfishness which made her take them away. I’d say it’s a good thing they were raised there—from what I can see of the boys’ memories and thoughts, the islanders seem to have been very kind and given them what company they could. If they’d not had that, and Mayl’s servants hadn’t made a fuss of Minan while they lived in Utuk, the children would be much more damaged. We need to either teach her to be a better mother or get them away—but if we take them away, we need to make sure they can cope, and that they’ll have a very loving and understanding home to go to. Right now, they really wouldn’t bear the shock of being taken from her. Minan is in a dreadful state, very anxious and worried about everything. He really wants to protect Ry-zilim and Mayl.”

“Poor little fellow,” Lady Nera said. As a grandmother, she would feel particularly strongly about the fate of the children—but none of them were exactly indifferent. “Karik, as their brother, do you have an opinion? Are you willing to take custody of them in the long term?” Karik clenched his fist. “In the long term, perhaps—but I don’t have anywhere to keep them, and...I’m about to go to Andon.” He appealed to Kei. “But I don’t want them sent away either. Can’t you do anything?” “Seiki, if the boys were given education and entertainment, allowed to mix with other people, do you think they would settle down enough that we could remove them in a month or so?” Tir Kamus shifted in his seat. “With respect, Master Kei, the state of Kuprij won’t consent to a delay of that order. She must be returned, and swiftly.” “I understand your need for haste, ambassador,” Arman said, forestalling Kei’s less polite response. “But we haven’t yet had a formal reply from His Serenity, and the legal proceedings and so on will take at least a month to complete. We must complete things correctly—you understand that. She’s not being set free.” “Seiki?” Kei prompted. She sighed a little, clearly unhappy with the entire business. “I...think it would help. They’ll be upset, certainly. The main thing is to dissipate her influence, and give the boys a sense of a normal existence. The soldiers have been so kind to the boys, and that helps, but they need to get outside the barracks, play with other children, see that it’s not such a big scary world. The crèche and school at the academy, or even the one for the soldiers’ children down at the barracks would be ideal if they spoke more Darshianese. In the long term, we could try and get them to attend there.” She gave them a regretful smile. “I’d offer to take a more active part myself, but I can’t with Mila and Jes just now.” “No, of course you can’t—they need all your attention.” Kei turned to his nephew. “How much of a role can you play, Karik? You could give them an anchor point, you and Romi.” “So could you, Kei,” Karik said. “Better than me—what do I know about children?” “Don’t be silly, Karik,” Seiki said, patting his hand. “You’re wonderful with Jes.” “Jes isn’t a frightened, traumatised little boy who speaks no Darshianese and sees us as the enemy, Seiki,” Karik said bluntly. “Kei, you have to be involved. We all do, I think.” Arman spoke up. “Then I propose this—Karik, you and Kei, together with Seiki and the barracks officers, work out some way that the children can be given some kind of decent daily life. I’m going to order that Mayl isn’t left alone with them at any time, and if she objects, she will simply have to be removed. Schooling will be looked into, but in the meantime....” He turned to his fellow Ruler. “Nera, we’ll need someone kind and strong-minded to stay with her. Someone who can make sure the boys are looked after.” “I know several people who can do it,” Nera said.

“Good. Tir Kamus, you and I will continue the discussions. Nothing we have arranged today will interfere with those, I promise you.” “The woman must stay under guard, Sei Arman. That will be insisted upon.” Arman made a slight bow. “And readily agreed to. I don’t want her running loose either. Right, everyone—I suggest we meet at the barracks at four this afternoon, and we shall impose this regime upon Mayl. Karik, you and Kei do what you need to, Seiki, if you and Lady Nera would liaise. Thank you for your time.” Karik gave Seiki a little hug. Arman came over and spoke to her quietly, before she and Lady Nera left to make arrangements. Karik joined Kei outside in the corridor after Arman indicated he wanted a private word with the ambassador. “I can’t be their Pa, Kei. I don’t know how.” Kei smiled reassuringly at his nephew. “All they need you to be is their brother. This is for you too, Karik. It’s going to be a very important relationship for all three of you. Have you got time to come back to my office?” “I’ll have to make time, won’t I?” Kei glanced at him. “Well, damn it—I didn’t ask to be a father or a brother and this has been dumped on me just when Romi and I are starting this new project. I don’t wish the boys harm, but they’re complete strangers to me.” They headed down the stairs, and Kei waited until they were outside and heading across the park towards the academy before he answered. “I understand your resentment. It’s very hard to love in the abstract. If you honestly feel you can’t develop or don’t want to develop a fraternal relationship with Minan and Ry-zilim, no one will force you. But I think you should give it a chance because you might regret it later if you don’t.” “I’ll try. But right now, the trip to Andon is more important to me than two brothers I’ve never met before. I guess that makes me a selfish little shit.” “You’re just being honest, nephew.” Kei, sensing Karik’s feelings, was inclined to be generous in his assessment of Karik’s reaction, because he knew how troubled the lad was. “You’ve really had no time to adjust to this. Once you do, you can make a decision.” Karik stopped, and looked at him in frustrated appeal. “I don’t want them just given to anyone. Ma’s already said if they haven’t got anywhere else, she’ll take them but...she and Pa have just got their lives sorted out after me leaving home. They’re really enjoying each other again, and their child-rearing years are behind them.” And Reji was fifty—gods, when did everyone get so damn old? But Kei made himself smile reassuringly. “Something will be arranged. We don’t need to make that decision now. The first thing is pry them away from her gently.” “They’re going to send her back, aren’t they?” Karik’s hands were clenched in fists again.

“Arman says...the most they can hope for is a commutation of sentence, but that would probably be hard labour in a mine or somewhere. Which would kill her more slowly than a noose, but just as surely.” Karik swallowed, looking as if he wanted to be sick. “I don’t believe in such things as you know perfectly well, but if there’s a war over this, many more people than her would die. We believe in reforming our criminals—the Prij believe in punishing them as a deterrent to others. It’s a philosophical difference that we will probably never overcome. Mayl’s the kind of criminal we simply don’t know what to do with. She’ll almost certainly never be a decent person, and if she was on the loose in Darshian, she would do more harm. Either she’s hanged, sent to the mines, or locked up on the prison island. Her fate was sealed when she tried to have Nivuman killed.” “Why did she have to come back? Why did I have to even know what happened to her? I have hardly thought anything about her in seven years and didn’t want to know anything of her. It’s not fair she’s trying to make me care!” Kei laid a hand on Karik’s trembling shoulder, and let some of his nephew’s pain come into him, easing it. “It’s not fair, not a bit of it,” he said quietly. “And what happens to her is none of your doing.” “I just...don’t want to send my own mother back to be killed. Anyone’s mother!” Kei concentrated, and though it hurt almost past endurance, he enveloped the anger and the grief, swallowing it into himself, holding tight onto Karik until he had brought his passion down to where his nephew wasn’t tearing himself apart with it. Then he pulled him into a hug and buried his face in Karik’s shoulder. “This is not your doing, Ka-chi. You have to let it go.” “Why?” he whispered. “Why is this happening now?” “No reason. Just life. You’re strong. Don’t let this bear you down. Just hold on. We won’t let you drown.” Or we’ll die trying.

~~~~~~~~ Romi watched the goings on at the married quarters impassively. Karik was unable to conceal his irritation with the entire business. “Look at her—she thinks she has a servant again,” he said, as the woman who called herself her mother, stalked back into the quarters, leaving Emia, the seventeen-year-old daughter of one of the senior officers, in charge of the children. “She’s actually pleased, Romi. She doesn’t even seem to understand it’s because she’s unfit—she doesn’t care.” “More fool her,” Romi said, coming to stand close enough to Karik that their bodies touched, trying to offer comfort while maintaining a little discretion in the barracks. Seiki and Kei came back over to them. “Everything settled?”

“Oh yes,” Seiki said, pulling a face. “She’s delighted—she doesn’t have to care about them at all now Emia’s their nurse. But she’s insisting she has to be with the boys at all times—she’s smart enough to realise that if they get used to her not being around, it’ll make it easier to remove them. I suppose there’s the faintest hope she might learn something about parenting if she watches what we do, but it’s unlikely, really.” “Never mind her,” Kei said kindly. “The children are all that matters right now. Karik, if you can spend an hour or so a day with them in the morning, I’ll come in the afternoon once I finish lectures, and Emia and the soldiers will make sure the boys get out and have some exercise. Arman and I could even take them swimming. Minan really ought to be learning his letters, but that’ll have to wait until things are less chaotic. Emia will start teaching them some Darshianese —you should do what you can too. The main thing is let them enjoy themselves.” “At least someone will be,” Karik muttered. “Don’t fret, darling,” Seiki said, kissing his cheek. “Kei, I really have to get home.” “Of course.” Kei quickly embraced Karik. “Romi, he needs loving.” “Yes, Master Kei,” Romi said with a straight face. Karik scowled at them both for their teasing and stalked off. Romi sighed. “Gods. Kei, are you sure Karik should be involved in this?” “Yes. Because you don’t get second chances. I don’t want Karik to have regrets....” His voice trailed off, and then he coughed. “Just help him. We’ll take care of Mayl.” Romi nodded, and Kei led Seiki off to where the Rulers’ carriage awaited them. This business tied up senior and important people as well as a lot of resources, and while he had no grudge against the children, he was absolutely certain all the conscience and distress over Mayl’s fate was completely unjustified. The pity of it was that her damn ship hadn’t sunk before it ever reached Darshek. He found Karik in their office, irritably shuffling papers. “This is so stupid. Those boys don’t want me around. They don’t know me at all.” “Yet. Karik, it took sixteen years, or so you told me, before you and Arman got over your issues. You can’t expect to bond with your brothers overnight.” “Kei already has.” He looked up. “You can see it in his eyes. He already cares so much for them, and he doesn’t even know them. He’s the one with love and compassion in his heart for all —I only care about the people I know.” Romi hitched his arse onto the desk and folded his arms. “Isn’t that true for everyone? Kei’s connected with the boys because of his love for you, it seems to me. He wants to help them because he sees you in them, and he doesn’t want you to make the mistake Arman made.” “It wasn’t a pissing mistake—I was no kin to Arman so there’s no reason why he should have raised me instead of Pa and Ma. He only gave away what he never had in the first place. What he never wanted in the first place. Now I see her for what she is, no wonder he couldn’t wait to get rid of her leavings.”

Romi got off the desk, and went to his lover. Though Karik protested a little, Romi didn’t let him escape as he wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Why is this pissing woman suddenly making you so damn hard on yourself? Mayl’s shortcomings aren’t yours in the least.” “Aren’t they? Look at me—I can’t work up any real concern for my own brothers other than not wanting them to suffer. I can’t make myself care about her, and yet I’m worrying more about her precious skin than Minan and Ry-zilim’s. My main concern is how this will affect our mission. I’m just like her—selfish and unkind. Even Kei thinks it.” “Absolute rot. I’ve seen you with your daughter—you’re nothing like Mayl as a parent. So far the boys are just a problem. They’re not real. But I bet you anything you wouldn’t lock yourself in your room, lying on the bed, and just let the children amuse themselves for hours and hours. You’d help any child more than she’s doing with her own.” Karik twisted around to face him. “But I don’t want this. It’s just a pissing nuisance!” “Yes, it is. I don’t want it either, love, but neither do those boys, or Kei or Arman. We just have to deal with it—but no law says we can’t complain about it. It does not make you into her. I think she must have been dropped on the head a few too many times as a child—she’s just broken.” “She is,” Karik said, rubbing his arms as if he was cold. “I cried when I was thrown out of Mekus’ house, thinking she wouldn’t know I’d gone. Later I guessed she’d known but hadn’t cared. I didn’t realise I’d just been a game, a way of dragging Arman into the dirt. I was her only child at that point. How could she? How could anyone?” Romi kissed his forehead and wrapped his arms around him again, trying to impart warmth and love and comfort with his touch, but feeling rather inadequate. “Like I said, broken,” he murmured. “Are you done here for the evening?” Karik looked at his desk, and sighed. “Another wasted day. I’m not earning my keep in the least. Anyone would think there was nothing in the world more important than my stupid domestic dramas, and yet our work’s essential. Look at the drugs we brought back from Andon already.” “Oh, I agree. But we can do both. Fortunately we have a little space now to handle it, and once the team comes back, we’ll have other arrangements in place. So don’t feel guilty—this is important too.” Karik didn’t seem convinced, but Romi didn’t have any more words to offer. “Fancy a spar?” “Yes, I pissing well do.” Romi grinned a little. He figured he’d be wearing a few bruises by this evening, but if it helped Karik work off some of his aggravation, every one of them would be worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 11 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Look! I done jesick!” “Jesig, Ry-chi,” Karik corrected gently. “It’s very good.” The excited boy ran over to his mother with his slate. “Mama, look!” Mayl gave it a languid glance. “I see,” she said, sounding bored out her mind. Ry-zilim’s little face fell. “I done tail too, Mama.” “The tail’s great, Ry-chi,” Romi said, crouching down to look at the slate. Karik would have begrudged the waste of his lover’s time, but he loathed the way Mayl spoke to her children. “Tell me the sound the jesig makes.” The boy looked confused. “You know.” Romi’s face twisted up as he made the familiar squeal of an excited jesig, and Ry-zilim giggled. “Silly Romi.” “Then you do it. Come on, Minan, you say who does the best jesig.” Minan solemnly assessed the idiotic sounds his brother and his adopted brother-in-law made. “Both too noisy,” he declared, twisting around to Karik. “Silly.” “Yes, very silly indeed. What are you drawing, Minichi? Is that a man?” “Uh huh. That’s Zexu. He’s got long hair like you, but it’s not all twisty, and it’s black like Romi’s. Only I don’t have black chalk, Ka-chi.” “Well, your slate’s black, so it wouldn’t show up.” Karik held up a brown chalk stick. “How about pretending this is black?” “Pretending?” “You know—like Romi pretending to be an urs beast yesterday.” Minan’s face creased up, trying to understand the concept. “But it’s brown.” Minan was a literal child, very precise, and would need a little time to work out the idea of ‘pretending’. But in the meantime, Karik wanted to encourage his nascent creativity—both boys really enjoyed drawing and messing about with clay, though neither of them had apparently ever tried anything of the kind before. It had given them something quiet to do in the office or on the verandah that Karik could supervise and join in, in breaks between training sessions, or, as today, when their people were off on field exercises with the regular soldiers. Most of the time, it meant that only he was distracted—though, as now, Romi was happy to play too when needed. The boys both liked him—they liked most of the soldiers and the attention they got from men and women only too happy to help amuse two sad little boys.

He got up and fetched a memo of little importance, and one of his pencils. “Try this, Minichi.” “Me! Me want!” Ry-zilim immediately said, getting up and making a grab for it. “Ry-chi, no,” Karik said firmly, removing the pencil from the boy’s chubby fist. “Let Minan try it first.” “Here,” Minan said, scowling at Karik, and thrusting the paper and pencil to his brother. “Ry-zilim has too.” Karik almost sighed. This was always what happened—Minan wouldn’t allow Ry-zilim to miss out, and would rather go without himself than have something of his own. Which was fine, but he didn’t want the younger one to be so selfish. “I’ll get another one.” “Here,” Romi said, already anticipating the request, and handing down more paper and another pencil. “But we don’t have a lot of paper, Minichi.” “Ry-zilim can have it,” he said, shaking his head and refusing it. Karik took the paper and pencil and then placed it in Minan’s hands. “You both can,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got enough for today. I want to see your picture of Zexu.” “Is it black?” Minan asked, peering at the pencil. “Minan, stop making a fuss and use the chalk.” Karik’s head snapped up at Mayl’s voice. “Little boys don’t use pencils.” Both boys stared at their mother, and Ry-zilim held his pencil as if he would give it back to Karik. “In Darshian, they do,” Karik said, smiling as if he meant it, pushing Ry-zilim’s hand down, and making him take the pencil back. “Come on, Minichi. Try the pencil—it’s dark, you’ll see.” Mayl gave Karik a cold look, before resuming her haughty stare out of the window, fanning herself with studied elegance as if she was a noble at the Prijian court, and not a convicted traitor. Karik would have given anything to have her put out of the room, but the one time they’d tried it, Minan and Ry-zilim had become hysterical. With a little coaxing he and Romi managed to get the boys interested in drawing again—Ryzilim found the effect of plain pencil on paper boring and so went back to the colourful chalks and his slate. Minan, though, concentrated on his picture. So much love was going into this portrait of his friend, Karik thought sadly. They really did have to get word to this man that his son and foster son were well and missing him. Peace descended, and Romi went back to his desk. Karik kept a close eye on both children, since their mother had no interest in them so long as they weren’t making a fuss. It was Emia who turned up mid-morning with some fresh fruit and water for them, and made sure they ate and wiped their hands and faces. Mayl would have just let them get hungry and grizzly. She hadn’t fetched food or drink for them in the entire month and a half she’d been in the barracks and under this new arrangement. She was perfectly happy for everyone else to run around after them—

fortunately, everyone else was happy to do it for the sake of the children, regardless of their opinion of her, which was universally low. Not long after Emia departed, promising to return for lunch, the door opened again, and young corporal Fujil stood in the doorway, grinning at the children. “Right, everyone—who’s ready for their riding lesson?” “Me! Me!” Ry-zilim said, getting up and running to Fujil and standing in front of her with his fists on his hips. Karik grinned at the little boy’s eagerness, but Minan was just as excited, already abandoning his picture, though carefully putting it aside, the chalks and pencils neatly lined up before he got to his feet. Karik took him by the hand and led him to the corporal. “Now you have to be very good and do exactly what Fujil says, all right? It’s very dangerous to be silly.” “Very dangerous,” Minan repeated solemnly. “I’ll be good, Ka-chi.” Karik ruffled his hair. “I know you will, Minichi. I’ll make sure your drawing’s safe.” “Mama come!” Ry-zilim cried. Mayl gave him a look of distaste. Karik thought it was perfect justice—she’d insisted on being with them every moment, so now she would have to sit in the hot sun and watch the jesig riding lesson. The first couple of days, she’d tried to limit the boys’ activities to suit herself—Kei had spoken to her very firmly and told her that either she let other people arrange a full and interesting day for the children, or they’d be taken away and the day arranged anyway. Karik had been there to back Kei up, and Mayl knew she was beaten, conceding with an ill grace. After that, she’d simply sat and let everyone get on with doing her job for her. Karik preferred it that way, for she had about as much maternal instinct as a blade of grass and her interventions were always negative and upset the children. Each time Karik thought of his own happy, rich childhood, he thanked Arman again for rescuing him from her, for whatever motive. Arman’s instincts had been pretty sound—he’d said Mayl would be a poor mother, and so it had proved to be. Romi cleared up as the children left with Fujil. “Would it kill her to be nice about a child’s picture?” he muttered. “I mean—look at it. It’s not bad for a three-year-old,” he said, peering at Ry-zilim’s slate and a rather wonky-looking jesig. “Apparently it would,” Karik said, sighing, taking the chalks and slates and cloths and packing them all carefully away in the box they’d put aside in the corner of the office. It was starting to accumulate the same kind of detritus as Jes’s bedroom. Neither boy had had a single toy with them, barely knew what to do with such a thing. Romi was already carving dolls for them both, and the barracks had been generous in supplying little bits and pieces, nothing too elaborate, but the kind of things that might become precious to the boys, if they were allowed the chance to enjoy them. “Still no word from Utuk.”

“I know. I can’t see them relenting. We should have taken the boys away from her weeks ago. They might be over the worst of it now.” Karik shook his head ruefully. “I’m beginning to agree. They want her approval so much, and it’s like a game to her, withholding it. She just dribbles it out, enough to make them think if they try a bit harder, they’ll get it again—but they won’t. I can’t bear to watch it. They’re such good little boys.” “They’re a lot better than she is, for sure. Uh...so have you and Arman and Kei decided on what’ll happen to them?” “No. Lots of people would adopt them, but...I don’t want them just going to people I don’t know. I don’t want them growing up and thinking their brother cast them away. I wish Seiki and Mila could have them—that would make things so easy.” “Not for them,” Romi said wryly. “Karik...maybe you and I could—” He stopped, and looked down at the scrawled over paper in his hands, apparently suddenly fascinated by it. Karik frowned. “Do you want to give up your new job to be a Pa?” They’d had this discussion a couple of times already, but Karik had never heard quite this wistful note in his lover’s voice before. “I do and I don’t, and that’s the truth of it. They’re good boys—I think given time, they could put this behind them and be happy and fulfilled living here, and you know me, I love helping people reach their potential. But then there’s my own potential to reach and I don’t think I’ve done that yet.” He shrugged. “It comes back to me not being ready to settle down that much. You either. But at the same time, this is an opportunity which comes along once in a lifetime, and those boys only have this one chance. In a year, two years, I can see myself truly regretting not taking them into my home. I can also see myself being really grateful not to be tied down that way. I just don’t know what to do.” “You’d make a great Pa, Romi.” “You too. But you already do—you have Jes, and number two, when they arrive.” That was true, and Karik felt guilty at neglecting his daughter in favour of his brothers. He already had a serious responsibility, one in which Romi was beginning to share. How could he take on two boys who deserved and would demand all his attention as well? But if he sent them to other people...he didn’t want to be Kei, eating his heart out for a decision made twenty-three years ago and regretted every moment since. Damn, life had been so much simpler two months ago. They had an hour to themselves before they joined Emia and the boys in the mess for lunch. Even there, a special effort had been made for the children, the cook making bread rolls in animal shapes for them, and picking out the best, sweetest fruit for them. It seemed like every soldier in the barracks waved or said hello to the children, and the boys responded, sometimes by name. They were picking up a few words of Darshianese, and recognising faces—they were building a

new home, however unlikely. Karik could see how the Welensi islanders had been able to take them to their hearts—it took so little to keep them happy, and it was so rewarding to see a smile on Minan’s solemn face. Ry-zilim was a sunny child, though rather insecure at times, and very dependent on his brother’s reassurances. Nothing made Minan happier than Ry-zilim laughing, but Karik wanted to see Minan smile on his own behalf. The boy reminded him strongly of his own younger self at times—not surprising, he supposed. Emia always offered them a quiet time after lunch, sometimes a nap if things had been especially hectic. Since they weren’t sleepy today, Karik sat with Emia while she read them a story. When she was done, they wanted another, so Karik read one, one of his own favourites from his childhood. Pa had read to him just like this, when he was full from his lunch, while his parents took it easy in the noonday heat. And undoubtedly just as he himself had done, Ry-zilim dozed off as he sat in Emia’s lap, sucking his thumb as his eyes drifted shut. Minan was still wide-awake, so he got another story all to himself, Karik reading quietly to him, Minan watching him closely as if he could pull the words from his lips by the force of his will. The child concentrated so hard. Everything he did, he did with his full attention. It was preternatural. He had work to do, and he had spent far more time today with the children than he’d planned, but it wasn’t often that he could give Minan so much undivided attention, without Ryzilim demanding his time. This was nice, just the two of them. He could ignore Mayl’s cold stare, and Emia was entirely occupied with Ry-zilim. It was just him and Minan, sharing the tales all Darshianese children grew up with. It was the first time Karik had really felt Minan was part of him, his brother—kin. Could he really just turn this feeling off, let Minan go to another family? “What’s wrong, Ka-chi? You sad?” He smiled at his brother. “No, Minichi—not sad at all. I was thinking, that’s all.” “About what?” “You, of course,” he said, tickling him and making him giggle. An amused voice cut across their fun. “Oh dear, child abuse. I shall have to report it, I’m afraid.” “Kei-chi!” Minan struggled out of Karik’s arms and ran off the verandah and over to Karik’s —his own—uncle. Kei swung him high and made him laugh. “Well, you seem to be in one piece. I’ll overlook it this time,” he said, putting the boy down and taking his hand. He glanced over at Mayl, his expression clouding briefly, then he smiled as he looked down at Emia and a sleeping Ry-zilim. “Explains why everything’s so quiet,” he whispered. “You’re early,” Karik said, sitting down on the edge of the verandah again. Romi came out of the office, saw Kei and then sat down next to Karik. “Ah, well, it’s a hot day, the sun is shining and I’d love a swim. Minichi, you feel like a swim?”

“Hmmm mmmm. I love swimming, Kei-chi.” “Yes, you do, don’t you?” Both boys swam like fish, in fact, and it had been one of the easier ways of connecting with them—taking them down to the beach and playing with them. Mayl didn’t enjoy the heat of the sun, but no one much cared. “Won’t Arman be jealous, you running off to the beach without him?” Romi asked. “He’ll meet me down there later with Tije. What about you two—fancy coming along? That way...we, uh, don’t need anyone else,” he said, referring obliquely to the soldier guards Mayl was required to have with her if she left the barracks. It was done discreetly as possible, the guards in civilian clothing, but it was still a restriction. “A swim sounds great, Kei. I’d still like a soldier to come with us,” Romi said. “As you insist, captain,” Kei said, clearly puzzled. Karik also wondered why Romi was pushing this, but it was probably some obscure army thing and he’d learned not to question such matters as a small price to pay for a quiet life. Ry-zilim slumbered on, but Kei wasn’t in any apparent hurry to get moving. He just seemed happy to be with Minan and the rest of them. Karik brought the drawing materials out again and Minan immediately went to work on his picture. “Who’s that, Minichi?” Kei asked. “Zexu. He’s got black hair, like Ry-zilim.” Kei peered carefully at the paper. “So I see. Lovely long hair too. What did you used to do with Zexu?” “He had a boat, and, we used to go in the boat and fish. I caught lots of fish, in a net, and...he found me a big shell.” He showed the size of it with his hands. “It made a noise.” “Show me?” And so Kei talked to him, drawing him out gently about Zexu, engaging his interest, finding out things that were important to him and how he felt about them. Karik had seen Kei do this with other children, other people. Having been on the receiving end, he knew how good it felt to have someone’s attention in this way, to know one was being listened to, heard and understood. He glanced over at Mayl from time to time—she wasn’t happy at all about this, but she had already learned not to tangle with Kei. Karik just hoped she wouldn’t do something to undo what Kei was doing now—she often did, trying to undercut the influence of other people. But she never tried it with Kei. At least, not after the first time. When Karik had mentioned it to Arman, his uncle had looked rather coldly satisfied. “She still thinks of him as a terrified, beaten down slave she can do anything to without the slightest retaliation. Now she’s dealing with Master Kei of the Darshek academy. She’d better learn the difference if she knows what’s good for her.” His mo...Mayl... had once watched Kei being clubbed unconscious, so he’d been told. Knowing that, seeing her now, Karik simply couldn’t believe her blood and his were mixed in

any way. It made him even more curious to know what Cirin was like, but the chances of finding out were almost non-existent. Besides, Karik didn’t think he could cope with finding out his other biological parent was a self-centred sadist too. One was enough. Ry-zilim woke up after a bit, and was excited to find Kei there, and as eager to go for a swim as his brother. Romi cleared it with his colonel—fortunately the man had been sympathetic from the start and told Romi, Karik too, to do what was necessary to settle the boys in until the situation was resolved. But he agreed with Romi that another soldier was necessary, though Romi still didn’t explain why, so Jok, one of the kind young men who’d made friends with the boys, agreed to come with them. It was a bit of a squash in the cart. Mayl kept as far away from them as she could in the small space as if she thought Karik and Romi would give her a disease. The boys, sitting up front, didn’t notice her behaviour—they loved riding in the cart, and Jok even let Minan play at holding the reins, though not actually giving him control. Kei held Ry-zilim in the passenger seat, looking like he was born to be a father—and at that moment, seeing the happiness on man and boy’s face, Karik made his decision about what he wanted for the children. He just had to work out how to make it happen. The beach wasn’t as busy as it would become later in the day, but busy enough. Mayl had early on made clear her objections to the entire business on modesty grounds—which caused much ironic amusement—so she was absurdly but chastely allowed to sit behind a screen and under a parasol while everyone else (including several Prij, though not the women) played and swam naked as the day they were born. The Prij who settled in Darshek tended to quickly lose their scruples about nudity, at least when it came to swimming. Those who were offended avoided it altogether but the only concession the women who came to the beach made was to not bathe naked, or in the same area as the men. Arman thought Mayl’s excessive scruples on the subject were pure caste snobbery. Very few highborn Prij lived in Darshek—which suited Karik just fine. Once she was settled, and everyone’s clothes piled up, they ran into the sea, the boys squealing ecstatically—it was far and away their favourite pastime, and if the swimming beach were any closer to the barracks, Karik was sure they’d never get them out of the water. Jok had to stay up on the sand, sitting on the other side of the screen, watching them all rather enviously. “Poor Jok,” Karik called to Romi. “Maybe you should spell him later?” Romi grinned. “Rank has its privilege.” “Poor Jok, all hot!” Ry-zilim yelled, then giggled at his joke, which he had to repeat several times to make sure everyone got the pure genius of it. Of course the first thing was the splashing game, then the chasing game, and then the race to see who was the fastest swimmer, and then who could float on their backs the longest. Karik felt almost like a child again himself, playing with them, and watching Kei fling himself about enthusiastically, splashing back as good as he got, and yelling without the slightest concern for

his dignity, Karik knew the idea of him being too old to be a father was simply nonsense. In his heart, Kei was about five and that was all that mattered. After a bit, Romi suggested they play up on the sand. Since sand was also one of the boys’ favourite things, along with a couple of old tin mugs from the barracks and a flat bit of drift wood that made an excellent shovel, they were happy to pile out of the water and see what Romi, the master of this game, would invent for them this time. As Karik sat and watched with Kei, Romi helped the boys build mountains and dams, and rivers and anything else that their joint and fertile imaginations could conceive. Karik was so absorbed in the latest construction and his lover’s cleverness, he almost missed Kei’s quiet words. “Sorry—you said...word’s come? From Utuk?” “Yes. Keep your voice down. It’s not good news. His Serenity expressed sympathy with the Darshianese position and earnestly hopes this will not lead to conflict with our nation, but if we don’t return her within a week, he will, most reluctantly, have to consider it a hostile act. You can tell he wants this no more than we do, Karik. I don’t think he’s thirsting for her blood, but he has to draw the line somewhere, and Mayl and Mekus were that line.” Though it was hardly unexpected, Karik felt himself growing cold with sick dread. He’d tried not to think about it too much, tried not to care—but he couldn’t have even handed Soza over to be hanged. Mayl was a horrible person—but her crimes weren’t against him. That made it even harder. “What will they do?” Kei’s face was solemn. “The Rulers met this afternoon. Arman will tell me when he gets here. But...if it’s a choice between war and her...our people and her...if there really isn’t an alternative...they’ll have to send her back.” “And the boys?” He stared anxiously at his brothers, so oblivious to the politics which would decide their fate, absorbed in dribbling wet sand onto the fantastical looking mountain Romi had built for them. “Nivuman’s made it absolutely clear they are safe, Kuprij neither demands nor claims them, and so far as he’s concerned, you’re the only person with authority to decide their fate. It’s really up to you. Lady Nera has a list of suitable families, and all you have to do is decide.” “Kei, I’ve—” But a sudden scream cut him off. “Help! Help! He’s drowning! Help!” Kei and Karik leapt to their feet, as did nearly every adult on the beach. A woman stood at the water’s edge, calling hysterically and pointing a long way out onto the bay where a man was struggling, his arm raised, signalling he was in trouble. “Romi, you and me, now!” Kei snapped. “Karik, stay with the boys.” Romi was already running down the sand, Kei’s long legs catching up in no time, and though other people were heading towards the drowning man, Kei and Romi were by far the strongest

swimmers. The woman continued to call and cry out, and those who had not joined the rescue, stood on the water’s edge, anxiously watching events unfolding. “Ka-chi, what’s wrong?” Minan asked. Karik kept hold of him—he didn’t want either of them running off. “Someone’s gone out too far,” he said, trying to see if either Kei or Romi had reached the man yet. The boys wouldn’t understand, and if this went badly, they might not want to see the result. “Never mind, Kei and Romi will find him. Show me what you’re building. How do you do that trick with the sand?” He made them concentrate, and kept his own eyes off the drama to the far left of him, but it was taking so long. Would that pissing woman ever shut up? How could it help to carry on in that way when all that could be done, was being done? She hadn’t been bathing herself—she was still clothed. Perhaps she couldn’t swim. Fortunately, Kei and Romi could, but her friend had been rather foolish in getting out past his ability. He managed to keep the boys occupied by drizzling wet sand in patterns on their arms. “And that says ‘R.y.c.h.i’,” he said, as Ry-zilim looked at his forearm, his mouth open in an ‘O’ of fascination. “Show mama,” the boy announced. “Mama! Look!” He ran up the beach, carefully holding his arm out to preserve the pattern. Karik glanced towards the water—swimmers were returning, but whether the man had been saved, he couldn’t see. Ry-zilim had to show Jok of course—Jok had been watching the rescue, but now smiled at the child and led him around the edge of the screen. Karik turned back to Minan, but then jerked as he heard Ry-zilim cry out, “Mama! Mama gone! Mama!” Blessed gods! Karik scooped Minan up and ran back up the beach to where Jok was restraining Ry-zilim from running off. “What in hells...she’s gone? How could she be gone? Jok?” The young man looked sick. “I don’t know—I was here the whole time, but I was watching the water...she must have run off. Karik, please, mind the boys, I have to search!” Karik grabbed Ry-zilim, and had to fight the two of them to stop them running after Jok. “No, listen! Jok will find her. She’s probably just gone for some water—Minan, please, don’t....” In the end, all he could do was keep a firm grip on them, but they were already crying and distressed. Where in hells had Mayl got to? And how could it happen so quickly?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 12 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kei felt the boys’ distress almost before he could see them, and ran, suddenly afraid of what might have happened. It was some relief to find the children and his nephew safe, but what had upset them? Where were Mayl and Jok? “Karik, what’s happening?” His nephew was trying desperately to keep hold of two struggling, upset children. “She’s disappeared—Jok’s gone to find her.” Gods. “Romi! Hurry!” He waved to get Romi to come over, then knelt and pulled Minan over into his own lap and held him firmly, though the boy was calling incoherently for his mother and trying to get away. “Shhhh, Minichi, it’s all right, we’ll find her.” Minan’s face was streaked with tears, and the desperation in his eyes nearly broke Kei’s heart. “Mama! Kei-chi, I want Mama!” “We’ll find her, don’t worry, just calm down. You have to be a brave boy for us now, Minichi.” Karik was coping—just—with Ry-zilim, but it was amazing the strength two determined children had in their small bodies. Karik wrapped his arms around the boy again as Ry-zilim burst into tears. “Shhh, Ry-chi, don’t fuss, we’ll find your mama.” He looked up at Kei. “Jok said he was here the whole time.” “I know. That man was in surprisingly little difficulty,” Kei said grimly. “A distraction?” “Possibly. Now come on, Minichi, Ry-chi, do you want your mama to come back and see you all upset? That’s a good boy, shhh.” Though it was cheating, Kei had no compunction about using his gift to leach away some of Minan’s distress, and Ry-zilim’s too—because this might only be the start of something very painful, and he didn’t want them to suffer for Mayl’s unutterable selfishness. “What’s going on? Kei? Where’s Jok?” Romi brushed water off himself and had grabbed his shirt. “Karik?” “Mayl...went off,” Karik said, shooting a warning look towards the boys. “Use Seiki.” Romi nodded, and concentrated, dressing as he carried on a silent conversation with Seiki’s help. The children had now calmed down a little, crying quietly and calling for their mother less hysterically, but it wouldn’t last, Kei knew. “Karik, we better get dressed.” “Neka?”

“Kei, what’s happening? Everyone’s all...she’s disappeared?” “So it seems. Where’s Arman and Tije? And can you sense Mayl?” A long pause. “Seiki’s searching, she knows her mind better than me, poor love. Arman’s nearly at the beach—do you want me to stop him?” “No, he needs to get here now. Damn it, where’s she gone? Why can’t we sense her?” Neka had no answer. Kei kept his anger out of his expression and his action, smiling reassuringly at a miserable and very worried Minan. He could hardly dress the boy because he kept looking around, wondering if his mother was on her way back. No chance, Kei thought. Mayl had fled. Soldiers poured onto the beach. Romi, now dressed, snapped out orders, and told two soldiers to find the woman and man who’d raised the alarm. “Kei, we need to get the children away—” “No!” Minan yelled. “Waiting here. She’s coming back!” “Minichi, when your mama comes back, Romi will bring her over to where we are. Would you like to see where I live? I’ve got a house all of my own.” “No! Mama, come back!” Minan began to cry again, which set Ry-zilim off, and all Kei could do was hold him and try and calm him once more. Romi just had to let him get on with it— the arriving soldiers needed direction, and Mayl had to be found. Arman and Tije arrived very soon after that. Arman demanded a report, which he got, listening to Romi with a grim expression. “Kei, the boys need to be taken back to the barracks.” “I thought...our house, Arman.” Because there will be no one there at the barracks, and it will remind them, Kei thought. Arman gave him a considered look, perhaps coming to the same conclusion, then nodded. “Tije, would you mind helping Kei and Karik?” “No, uncle. I’ll do whatever you need me to.” “Then Kei, take charge. Whatever you need, just ask for it—take the calash, it’s faster. Romi, you and I will take over here. Kei, I’ll send Emia over to the house and let Pira know.” “Thank you. Come on, boys, we’ll get cleaned up and have something to eat.” Without his gift, it would have been impossible to get the children off the beach without force, so he used it shamelessly, though between their distress and the agitation of the soldiers and the crowd, he was developing a shockingly bad headache. Fortunately, Tije and Karik were wonderful with the boys, distracting them and keeping their minds firmly off their mother’s whereabouts, which, even if only a temporary relief, was still worth having. The children were quiet, clinging tightly to the adults, as the calash took them back to Kei’s home. But when they arrived at the house, Minan’s feet barely hit the ground before he ran up the path, crying, “Mama! Mama! She’s here, Kei-chi?”

Kei ran after him and caught him. “No, Minichi, she’s not here, not yet. You’re going to wait for her, remember?” Minan’s eyes bored into him. “Bring her back now,” he said, glaring. “I can’t, I’m sorry. Romi’s looking for her. You have to be brave and help Ry-zilim.” “Minan.” Ry-zilim ran to his brother and flung himself against him. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama!” Kei knelt and put his arms around them both. “Boys, listen to me. We’re looking for your mama now, but until we find her, I need you to be good, brave boys for me.” He took his handkerchief out and wiped Minan’s face. “Minichi? There’s a really nice lady in there called Pira, but she’s very, very old and she’ll be so upset if you cry. Can you be a good boy for me and not cry too much? I know you want to cry a little bit.” Minan’s bottom lip trembled. “Mama,” he whispered. Kei dabbed at his face, and kept his voice gentle. “I know, but we’re trying very hard to find her. Can you be a brave boy for me? So Pira won’t be frightened?” “Yes.” “You’re such a good boy,” he said, kissing his forehead, and using his gift again. “Ry-zilim, can you be a brave boy too?” “Mama come back?” “We hope so. Minan is here, and he’ll look after you. We all will. Can you try to be brave?” “I want Mama!” Minan took his hand. “Come inside, Ry-zilim. You mustn’t cry cos you’ll scare Pira.” Ryzilim gazed up at him and then nodded, only pouting a little. Such good children. Kei opened the door ahead of them, and walked in, keeping his hands on their shoulders and feeling their misery and fear, but under that, Minan’s courage, and Ry-zilim’s sweet trust in his brother. Behind him, Karik and Tije were anxious, desperate to help. What a pissing mess this was. Pira had been warned, fortunately, and was all smiles and welcome. “Well, well, who are these fine young men, Kei?” Tije translated for them, and then introduced them. “Pira, this is Minan, and this is Ry-chi. Say hello to Pira, boys.” They did so quietly, and Pira clucked. “I don’t know if someone might like a sweet cake or two, but I’ve just made some which I think need to be tested. Minan, dear, would you like to see if the cakes are any good?” Again Tije translated. Minan looked uncertain. “Look, Minichi,” Karik said cheerfully. “They’re really nice.” He took a bite, then offered Minan one. He accepted it suspiciously, then

nibbled it. From his expression, he found it good. Ry-zilim had no hesitation, and had to be prevented from stuffing an entire cake straight into his mouth. Under the influence of tea, cakes, determined cheerfulness and not a little exhaustion, something like peace was restored, though Minan jumped at every little sound, and Ry-zilim asked for his Mama disconsolately from time to time. Emia arrived with their clothes and some of the donated toys—they were happy to see her, but it set them off thinking about their mother again, so the process of calming them down had to begin once more. Though everyone stood ready to help, Kei decided it was best to let Emia take charge, at least for now, because she was the person they were most familiar with, and most used to. Pira did what she could to coax the two tired, upset children to eat, and then to wash and make them comfortable in a strange bed, which they shared with Emia. Only once she and they had retired for the night, could the adults speak freely. There was still little news, unfortunately. Arman had ‘called’ several times to say they were still trying to find Mayl and the people they believed had helped her escape, but despite the best efforts of Neka, Seiki and quite a large section of the Darshek-based army, nothing had been found. Finally, Kei told Karik and Romi to take the calash back to the barracks. “I’ll let you know the moment we hear anything, but there’s no point everyone being overtired and worried.” “I’ll come back in the morning, first thing,” Karik said firmly. “Kei—we need to talk about what’s going to happen to them.” Kei rubbed his eyes. He felt like an eighty-year-old. “Yes, we do and soon. But tomorrow.” He smiled at his nephew. “They were lucky to have you both today. All of you—Romi, Tije, Pira. Thank you.” Karik gave him an odd look. “The person who made the difference was you.” He got up and gave him a warm hug. Kei was glad to have it, to feel Karik’s love and affection, knowing his nephew was his friend, always. When they had gone, Pira offered to make them more tea, but Kei suggested she had an early night. “What about Arman, dear?” “I’ll wait up for him. Go on, Ma—tomorrow is going to be a long day.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” “Those poor little loves—I do hope they find their mother. They miss her so much.” “Er, yes. They do.” They had shielded Pira from the frankest discussion about Mayl’s shortcomings, so she wasn’t aware their mother was hardly a blessing. But perhaps it was best she would be more positive about Mayl than anyone else could manage. “Anyway, I suspect they’ll be here for a few days—I’ll arrange for Emia to stay and look after them, so I hope it won’t make too much work for you.” “Oh, never mind about that, Kei. I’d do anything to help those boys. Good night—good night, young Tije.”

Tije bowed politely as she left. Kei brought the kettle over to the stove cistern and drew hot water for tea. “Well, Tije, you can’t complain your visit to Darshek has been dull,” he said, giving the lad a wry smile. “No, I can’t. Has she got away, do you think?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what it means if she has. Your sovereign might blame us—or it might be seen as an elegant solution to a thorny problem.” He made the tea, and shook the pot a little to encourage the brew, then sat down and looked at the lad. “What do you think?” There was a slight flush on Tije’s cheeks, but Kei sensed it was from passion, not embarrassment. “I think she should be brought to face justice. If she’s escaped, she should be pursued and brought to Utuk to face her sentence.” “And her boys?” “Should a criminal escape punishment because they have children, Kei? Should we treat women less severely than men because of their fecundity?” Kei almost grinned at Tije sounding so much like his uncle. “No, I think not because of that. But then I see justice being less about retribution than healing. Say...for example, you saw a man take a sword out, and kill a boy of Keiji’s age, in cold blood, in front of his parents. What would be the punishment under Prijian law?” Tije was firm. “He should be hanged. Murder is wrong.” “So it is, not arguing with you. Now, let’s change the circumstances. The man was provoked, say. Perhaps...the boy had done something terrible to him, or caused great pain—would that make a difference?” “No. Though...perhaps he might be sent to the mines instead.” Kei lifted an eyebrow. “Still hardly merciful.” “A life was taken, and it was not self-defence or lawful. It’s murder.” Kei nodded. “Under your law, certainly. Does it matter if the man was a good man, and otherwise not a criminal?” Tije’s jaw was set firm. So like Arman in some ways. “We judge the act. Society must not allow a murder to go unpunished.” “So...if the man was a healer, say—and if he lived, he would save other lives if he was spared? Say it was me.” For the first time, Tije’s certainty was shaken. “I...would say you...he should have thought about it before he killed someone.” “Ah. So if the murder was in hot blood, an act of passion, that would make a difference.” The brief wobble in his certitude disappeared. “A man who carries a sword should at all times act reasonably, knowing that losing his temper could lead to death. So no.”

“So...by your lights, Arman shouldn’t be a Ruler, he should be dead. Because,” Kei continued as Tije stared at him in shock, “during the war, he killed a boy, younger than Keiji and in exactly the circumstances I described—he took revenge in hot blood for the death of his dearest friend, but it wasn’t self-defence, and according to him, not even lawful under the Prijian rules of engagement, though I doubt Her Serenity would have done anything about it. Under Darshian law, he had to face a clan court, where he was judged and sentenced to six months’ service at the direction of the clan. But if he’d been convicted in Utuk, he’d have been dead twenty-three years now. You don’t think that in those twenty-three years, that at least a few people would not have been very glad he had not been hanged?” He poured out the tea while Tije looked at him, bewildered. “You see, Tije? That’s the problem with absolutes. It’s the problem when you don’t think of the harm you might do by imposing them. Arman’s crime was great—he would be the very first to tell you that. But it was judged that he had reason, that he wasn’t in control of himself, and that he wasn’t essentially evil, so he was given a chance to heal the village and himself, which he took up wholeheartedly. In the time since then, he’s worked hard to give back more than he took from Darshian. It’s not a perfect solution. The family never got over their loss, and no one could help them. No one could replace the boy he killed. No one could replace the boy who that boy killed. But there are other answers. Always. Death for a death means you end up with two corpses.” “So you’d just let Mayl walk free,” Tije said indignantly. Kei shook his head. “No, certainly not. But if Ai-Vinri taught you anything, surely it was that vengeance doesn’t heal, it only holds the wounds open. Fejsik is a wiser man than either of us— and he knows that if he’s to go to the next life in peace, he has to leave this one without hate. It’s difficult for your sovereign, because he might personally forgive, but he rules a society that cannot allow it. In the time and place we are in now, Mayl must be condemned to die. But you can already see the pain it’s causing two completely innocent children.” “But you said she’s a terrible mother! A terrible person.” “Yes, she is, sad to say. But still loved by two people who’ll suffer very badly when she doesn’t return. So when, Tije, you come to govern, and you come to make your laws, you should remember this—there are always consequences, always two sides. Your decision might be the same as it would be without considering those facts—but at least you won’t be acting in ignorance.” Tije smiled rather ruefully, and picked up his mug again. “Do you never stop teaching, Keigidu?” Kei shook his head, and smiled at his own foolishness. “Probably not. Sorry—I was using you to distract myself a little. I don’t know how we’re going to tell them she’s not coming back, or if they’d ever believe me. They’ve had so much sorrow in their short lives—it seems so unfair they should suffer this. I just want to hug them and take the pain away from them.”

“They’re such nice children, considering. Er...if Emia is staying, and they are, won’t it get crowded? Should I perhaps stay somewhere else?” “Your uncle would never hear of it, lad. Always room for another,” he said, smiling to reassure him. “Your help with them is appreciated. The translation, if nothing else, is very handy. Drink your tea, and then tell me something cheerful.” It was hours before Arman returned—nearly midnight in fact—but Tije refused to abandon him, and though Kei felt guilty for imposing, he was grateful for the company. When Arman arrived, he was haggard and grim, accepting tea and some buttered bread as the only supper he could stomach, then sitting down to eat and tell them what was happening. “Seiki and Neka haven’t heard a whisper from her, and unfortunately all the confusion and activity meant trying to locate anyone who might have had a hand in it was impossible. We’ll try at first light.” “And the man and woman on the beach?” “Disappeared. They were put up to it, Neka found out that much, but she couldn’t get names or a useful description. We’re searching for them but whoever was behind this, planned well.” Kei stroked his lover’s hand—Arman looked so very fed-up. “Jok won’t be punished, will he? He never left his post and he was practically sitting on top of her—there was no reason to presume there would be such a trick played.” Arman sighed. “Actually, there was, and he’ll have to be spoken to, but it was an easy mistake to make, though we’d been expecting something like this.” “Huh?” Arman sipped his tea, the lines around his eyes showing his exhaustion. “There was a suspicion that someone—perhaps not officially—might decide to ensure Mayl was returned to Utuk.” “You think the Prij are behind this?” “I really have no idea, Kei. No one would admit it if they were, and I’m sure Tir Kamus will not be pleased by this turn of events.” He glanced at his nephew. “Tije, your word of honour not to discuss any of this—you’re hearing this under privilege, you know that.” “Yes, uncle, I understand. What I learn here, stays here.” “Good lad. Kei, I need to get to bed. I haven’t the energy for a bath, I’m sorry.” Kei leaned over and kissed his lover’s forehead. “We’ll endure. Tije, good night—and thanks again.” “Thank you—and I’ll think about all we talked about.” “You do that.” Arman looked at him with weary curiosity as Tije left. “What were you talking to him about?”

“Crime, punishment, and the need for mercy.” Kei leaned his forehead against Arman’s. “Gods, I’m glad to see you.” “Mutual. The boys?” Arman asked as he wrapped his arms around him. “Very anxious and frightened, but trying to be brave. Such good children, Arman. We have to make sure they don’t suffer too much from this.” Arman grunted. “If you ask me, her disappearing is the best thing for them, though it causes me some headaches. Come on, if you don’t want to have to carry me. We’ll have to deal with this all over again in the morning.” “We’re not doing it on our own. That helps.” “Yes it does.” Arman kissed him. “Come to bed and take this away from me, my love.” And Kei did so gladly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 13 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arman normally woke in an instant, but this morning, he struggled to fight his way out of the fog, his body leaden and uncooperative, like he was sickening for something. Which would be all I bloody well need, he thought tiredly, before realising that what had woken him was Kei speaking to someone at their bedroom door. As he opened his eyes, Kei came over to the bed. “Arman, Tije says there’s a soldier at the front door.” He sat up and Kei handed him his robe. “Could you ask Tije to keep the boys and Emia at the back of the house?” “Of course.” As Kei went back and spoke quietly to his nephew, Arman dressed quickly and put on his slippers. Meeting someone like this was disgraceful but from the light through the windows, it wasn’t long after dawn. He didn’t sleep in his Ruler’s robes, after all. It was a solemn-faced lieutenant, saluting smartly. “Good morning, my lord. I regret to report that we’ve found the woman, Mayl. Deceased. Her body was concealed in an abandoned cart by the docks.” It wasn’t a surprise, not really, but it still was a jolt, even after all the times he’d wished her to drop dead. “Violence?” “No sign of it, my lord. No sign at all really of how she died, except she’s been dead for some time. Possibly more than twelve hours, so our healer says.” Kei would need to examine the body—gods, the boys. “Thank you, lieutenant. My compliments to Colonel Leke, please, and ask him to have the body kept somewhere discreet, and under guard—it’s at the barracks?” “Yes, sir. The colonel presumed you would want to see it.” Hardly. “I’ll be down there this morning, but we have her children here and they come first.” The lieutenant saluted. “Yes, my lord. The colonel said if there’s anything we can do for the boys, to let him know. We’re all worried about them.” “That’s kind, thank you, and I’m sure we will call on you. Have Karik and captain Romi been informed?” “Yes, my lord. They’ve viewed the body, and made the formal identification. Karik said he would wait for your instructions before coming here.” “I’ll speak to him. Thank you.”

Arman turned as the lieutenant went back down the path, and found Kei behind him. “You heard?” Kei nodded. “Murdered?” “Almost certainly. When do we tell the children?” “Soon—we have to. They’re both crying for her now and it would be cruel to raise hopes.” “Do you want me there?” “I think so. At least at first. I’ll need to find out if her body is viewable, but if it is, then I think we should take them down there this morning.” “I leave it in your hands, Kei. Let’s get dressed properly though—I can’t face these crises in my nightgown.” Once more suitably attired, he asked Kei to have Emia bring the boys into the sitting room, with Tije. The children looked exhausted and miserable, and a little frightened too. “Is Mama here yet?” Minan asked, rubbing his eyes, holding onto his brother’s hand. “No, son, I’m sorry. Come and sit on the couch with Kei and Emia. We have something to tell you.” He sat on the floor in front of them, knowing it was very easy for someone of his size to look threatening. Kei took Minan onto his lap, and looked into his eyes. “Minichi, do you remember when your Papa died? Did you see him?” “They put him in a hole, Kei-chi. He was all dead.” “That’s right, because that’s what we do when someone dies. And you know he’s not coming back, don’t you?” “Uh huh. Zexu ‘splained. He said people get borned, then they live, then they die and then more people get borned. Like a big circle,” he said, waving his hand in the air. Thank the gods for a sensible man. Kei nodded. “Yes, that’s how it is. Everyone dies, and then they’re reborn in new lives as new people. Minan—the soldiers found your mama last night. I’m afraid she’s gone away.” “Mama? Gone? Gone where? I want to see!” “No, Minan,” he said gently, holding tightly onto the boy. “I mean—she’s dead. Like your father died.” Minan’s eyes widened in horror. “M-mama? Dead? No! You’re lying! Mama!” He fought Kei’s embrace and screamed. Ry-zilim, too young to understand the news itself, was affected by his brother’s reaction, and struggled and cried too, knowing something bad and happened and wanting his mother to come to him. Piteous childish cries rent the air, immune to all soothing, as Emia and Kei tried to calm the boys and stop them running off to look for their mother. Tije and Arman could only watch, ready to help if needed, but there really was nothing

that would make this blow easier. Arman knew that personally, as indeed did Kei. They would both have spared these children this, but yet again fate hadn’t been kind to them.

~~~~~~~~ When the screaming had eased to weeping and pitiful calls for their mother, Emia and Kei cuddled the boys and let them wear out their sorrow. Arman nodded at Tije, who slipped out to tell Pira and fetch some tea, it being the universal panacea for all sorrow and strong emotion in Darshian. Arman was surprised how quickly Minan, at least, calmed, and that had an effect on Ryzilim. “Want to see Mama,” he said when Tije came back with the tray. “Want to see her now.” “Then of course you shall,” Kei said, stroking his hair soothingly. “But first, I want you to drink your tea and we’ll wipe your face. Arman has to get the calash for us, don’t you?” That was his cue to leave and deal with the official side of it all. “Give me half an hour. Minan?” He took the child’s hand. “You’re a very brave boy. We’re all very proud of you.” Minan’s bottom lip wobbled, and fresh tears spilled down his tired little cheek. To his own surprise, Arman reached over and pulled him into a hug, which the boy returned with surprising force. “There, there. You’re a good boy and we’ll keep you safe, I promise.” He held the lad until he quieted again, then handed him back to Kei. There wasn’t much they could do for the children right this minute. Arman remembered his own mother’s death and how inconsolable he’d been. At least these boys had a wealth of people to offer them comfort and help —all Arman had had were his brother and the servants. It hadn’t really been enough, and he wanted better for these innocents. He went to the kitchen and told Pira what was happening, and asked Neka to allow him to report to the other Rulers, telling them he would come to the House that afternoon to discuss it all. Until they had more information, the question of how to put this to Utuk was undecided, but it could wait. He informed the academy that Kei was unavoidably detained and they should clear his schedule for at least the next three days, and then he spoke to Karik. “Nephew, are you all right?” “I’m fine. Just...shocked. No one knows how or why yet.” “We’ll keep searching. We’re bringing the boys down—is she in a decent state to be seen by them?” “Pretty much. She’s in the mortuary here—I’ll ask the attendant to lay her out as nicely as they can. I don’t think it’ll frighten them.” “Good. We’ll be there soon.” “Arman, I need to speak to you and Kei about what to do with the boys.”

“Yes. Once this business is done, we’ll come back here. We won’t be long.” “Take your time. She won’t get any more dead.” Arman was rather thoughtful after that. He really wasn’t sure how Karik would feel about this. He’d made his disgust at Mayl’s utter lack of maternal feeling clear, but Karik had once, quite rightly, taken Arman himself to task for removing Karik as an infant from his mother’s care. Arman wasn’t sure if, in the future, Karik might not persuade himself that Mayl’s inadequacies were not partly due to Arman’s act. He was sure they weren’t, but the mind did strange things when it came to relationships. “Is there anything I can do, Arman?” Pira, hands twisting in her apron, was looking worried. “No—thank you, my dear, but I think you should prepare for guests for a few more days.” “What will happen to the boys? Such a terrible thing to happen, and so young too.” “They’ll be well-cared for. Lady Nera has several fine homes lined up, and any number of people who would love them and want them.” “I suppose. Sad that young Karik can’t look after them, with them being his brothers and everything. Or you and Kei.” “Me? My dear, I’m nearly fifty.” “But so very good-looking with it,” an amused voice said from behind him. Arman turned and gave Kei a slight smile. “Thank you. Are they ready to go?” “Emia’s just cleaning them up—Tije’s helping.” Kei kissed his cheek, then went hunting for tea. “You know, we’re lucky to have her. It’ll ease the transition somewhat, though it’ll be a painful time. How’s Karik?” “Bearing up. Still trying to accept it, I think. This has been a very trying time for him. For everyone.” “Yes—but I’ve enjoyed it too. It’s been rewarding.” Pira gave Arman a significant look at that, which Kei, pouring himself the last of the tea, missed. Arman didn’t need Pira to point out Kei would make a wonderful father to those boys, but at their age, it was surely impossible. Besides, Karik and Romi would also make wonderful fathers, and it was much more suitable that they took the children on, if they wished to. But.... No. He was simply too old, and had had his chance. The boys deserved better than him, if not Kei. And all that mattered was what was best for them. So he made himself stop wishing for things that could not be, and turned his mind to the wretched business of disposing of his exwife’s affairs, and finding out who had put an end to her selfish life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 14 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Karik had wanted to go to the office as usual, until Arman and the others arrived. Romi put his foot down. “No way. Karik, you’re on special leave now if I have to tie you up.” His lover gave a mildly irritated look, but didn’t object as much as Romi thought he might. “Do you spend all your waking hours thinking about me and ropes, captain?” Romi put his arm around Karik’s waist and kissed his temple. “Only about half. The other half involves how I can get you to tie me up.” “Sure it does. I don’t know why you think I’m upset. She meant nothing to me.” “Perhaps not, but it’s still a shock. There will be things to sort out and I want you to concentrate on your brothers. I wonder what will happen to her body? No one in Kuprij will want it.” “I was talking to Tije about her and he said that so far as Kuprij are concerned, she’s a nonperson. No priest would hold a funeral, no graveyard would take her body. And since there doesn’t seem to be a soul other than the boys, and possibly my real father, who would mourn her...a funeral seems a waste of time.” Karik grimaced and pulled away from Romi’s grip. “Do you think I’m awful for not caring?” “No. You hardly knew her and what you did know of her, wasn’t very attractive. I know people say you should always honour your parents...but some of them aren’t worthy of it.” Karik nodded. “I feel so bad for Minan and Ry-chi. When they grow up, they’ll probably remember her as the mother they loved, and won’t understand why none of us feel that way.” “Really not much to be done about that, love. So long as people don’t go out of their way to insult her memory, then the boys can hold onto their illusions.” There was a knock at their door, and Romi opened it to find a young soldier, waiting politely. She saluted. “My lord Arman’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you could come across to the colonel’s office. Karik too.” “Thank you, we’ll come over now.” Karik straightened his shirt, and smoothed his braid a little. “This will be horrible,” he muttered. Romi could only agree, and kept his hand on Karik’s back as they walked across the quadrangle. Colonel Leke met them outside and shook Karik’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, son.” “Thanks, but it’s not really a loss for me. Are they inside?”

“Yes. I think the mortuary has arranged things as you requested—they’ve tried to make it less medical for the boys.” “That’s kind, thank you.” He led them into his office, crowded with four adults and the boys. Romi was relieved to find the children were at least not hysterical, though tears were not far away. Karik crouched and put his arms out for a hug, which Ry-zilim accepted immediately. Minan was more reserved, almost wary. “Minichi, what’s wrong?” “Did you take mama away?” “No, of course not. We don’t know what happened, Minan. Romi and the soldiers are trying to find out. But I didn’t hurt your mama, I swear. Won’t you give me a hug?” “Yes.” He hung onto Karik rather fiercely then, and as Karik stood up, Minan came with him, carried in his arms. “Want to see Mama, Ka-chi.” “I know. Ry-chi, would you like Kei to carry you?” He nodded, and Kei picked him up. “Now, you know your mama won’t wake up, don’t you? She’s not asleep. She won’t hear you.” “She’s dead.” Minan buried his face in Karik’s shoulder. “Yes, Minichi, that’s right.” Karik looked at Romi rather sadly, and then at Kei. “He knows what it means,” Kei said quietly. “Zexu explained it when Mekus died.” “Good.” It was a solemn procession down the verandah and to the back of the infirmary. The mortuary was used to store the bodies of soldiers who died, but also any citizens found dead or who were killed unexpectedly, so evidence could be collected and any crime investigated. It wasn’t the most cheerful place, but there was a small side chamber where mourning relatives could come and collect the deceased. It was here that Mayl’s body was laid out, decently covered with a clean sheet, flowers sitting on a side table to disguise the clinical air of the room. She had been found lying on her side, and she was still in that position. To the untrained, she might look almost as if she was asleep, but the stillness and pallor were the give away. Kei and Karik led the boys over to the trestle table, while everyone else stepped back respectfully. Ry-zilim had to be held up to see. “Mama? Wake up, Mama, it’s me.” “Ry-zilim, she’s dead. Mama can’t hear us.” That was Minan, being brave. “Kei-chi...why did she die?” “I don’t know, son. We don’t know how it happened, but she didn’t suffer. You can see how peaceful she looks.” Minan turned away and hid his face against Kei’s leg. “Don’t want to look any more.”

“Then let’s go outside. It’s all right. You can come back in later if you want to.” Outside, Karik drew in a deep breath, his eyes wide with unexpressed emotion. Minan clung to Kei’s hand, staring at nothing, his face a mask of misery. Ry-zilim looked back at the door. “Why? Romi, why mama not waking up?” “Because...maybe she got sick. We don’t really know.” “Make her better?” “No, Ry-chi, we can’t. I’m sorry.” “Romi, fix it! Mama!” Nothing they could do or say could convince Ry- that his mother wasn’t just asleep and wouldn’t wake up if he called her. In the end, they had to take him back in and let him see, and it was Minan who convinced him. It broke all their hearts to see the older boy patiently, painfully explaining that Mama wouldn’t wake up and that she would have to go into a hole because she was dead. And once Ry-zilim finally understood, he was inconsolable, and was taken outside on the verandah to cry himself into exhaustion, rocked in Emia’s arms. Minan tried so hard not to cry, it hurt to watch him, but when Kei took him onto his lap, he wept too, huge hiccupping sobs of raw grief that made Romi’s eyes fill to hear them. Once Minan had calmed down, more or less out of pure weariness, Kei transferred him gently to Tije. “Minichi, I’m just going to speak to some people. We won’t be far away. Hold him, Tije—I need to speak to Karik and to the medic here. Be good for Tije, Minan.” Minan nodded sadly, eyes still brimming with tears, but with no obvious sign he was about to become upset again. Tije wiped his face, then held him in a practiced manner—the lad really had a good way with children. “Take as long as you need, Kei. We’ve got them.” Kei kissed Minan’s forehead and said they would be back very soon, then the four of them crept away. “Come with me,” Kei whispered. He wanted another look at Mayl’s body, but as the medic reported, there were no signs of violence or illness. There was lividity on her face where she lay on it, but to Romi’s eye, there was nothing that indicated an injury. Kei questioned the medic, and there was a brief discussion about whether an autopsy would yield any more information, as Kei had her body turned and he examined it closely. Karik and Arman turned away while that was happening—Romi hardly blamed them. “I don’t think we’d learn anything, and to mutilate the body would distress the children,” Kei said finally. “But the cause of death is a mystery. A stroke or heart attack can’t be absolutely ruled out but is rather unlikely given her age.” Karik turned. “Drugs?” he asked, looking rather pale. “Possibly. If we knew why, we might learn how, but since there are no bruises or marks at all, I suspect she went willingly with whoever killed her. Whether they meant to kill her, I have no idea.”

Arman coughed. “Kei, I don’t think we’ll find those answers here.” “No.” He drew the sheet back over Mayl’s body again, and thanked the medic. “May she learn a better way in the next life,” he murmured. “Karik, you’re in charge now. What do you want to do about her and about them?” “Can we get out of here?” Karik gulped a bit as they went outside, behind the mortuary. “Sorry, I just.... I’ve seen lots of dead bodies, just not—” “Your mother’s?” Kei said. He glared at his uncle. “She wasn’t my pissing mother. Just....” “It’s all right to be upset, Ka-chi,” Kei said, reaching for his nephew and pulling him into a firm embrace. “You don’t have to love someone to be upset when they die.” “I’m not...I just...don’t know what to feel. It’s like...I feel cheated. But when she was alive, I despised her.” “Give it time, son,” Arman said. “I’m sorry—this is my fault....” He shut up as Karik glared at him, and even Kei shook his head in reproach. “All right, I won’t say any more. Do you want a funeral arranged?” “What would be the point? It’ll only upset the boys.” “They might like to see the burial,” Kei said. “They saw Mekus’s and it helped them accept it. Ry-zilim didn’t really understand it, but he might this time. Romi? Arman? Arman, when your mother died, what did you do?” “We had a funeral of course, and the interment. Uh....” He cleared his throat. “But I was older. Minan would understand—Ry-zilim might be rather frightened.” “Karik, with your permission, I could, uh...ask Lady Nera to help with something. Gods, I don’t suppose there’s anyone who would attend, and we have to be careful not to offend the Prij....” “Whatever you want, uncle,” Karik said, looking as if he was about to cry. Kei looked at Romi across his shoulder, then silently passed his nephew over to Romi’s care. “I’m all right.” “Yes, you sound it. Let it go, love.” He just held on, while Kei and Arman kept a discreet silence. Around them, the normal sound of barrack life went on—men and women shouting, weapons clanging, and urs beasts complaining about being put to work. A perfectly ordinary day, but one his lover—and two little boys—would never forget. Finally, Karik lifted his head and looked over at his uncles with reddened eyes. “Sorry.” “Don’t be, Ka-chi,” Kei said kindly. “Does your Ma know?” “I, uh, told her this morning. She said she was sorry for the boys and offered to help if she could. Not much else she could say, really.”

“No, I suppose not. I suppose we need to ask Lady Nera about those families now—you’ll need to meet them and decide, Karik.” Karik freed himself from Romi’s arms, and Romi recognised the stubborn set to his lover’s jaw. “I don’t need to speak to Lady Nera. I want my brothers to grow up with my family. They are my family.” “So...you’re going to look after them? Or is Jena...?” Kei frowned. “But I thought you said she was past all that.” “She is. But you’re not. Kei—I want you to raise them with my help and Romi’s.” Kei blinked. So did Arman. “Me? But...I’m forty-three.” “Yes, but you don’t look it. Sure don’t act it. You said you would have taken me in an instant, if it wasn’t for...and that was because Arman thought I was Mekus’s boy. It’s all right, Arman,” he said, raising his hand to forestall the apology. “I understand now—really I do. Well, Kei, will you?” “Me? But why?” Arman put his arm around Kei’s waist, but though he was staring hard at his nephew, he kept his counsel for now. Karik sighed. “Because you and Arman would make better fathers than me or Romi right now, and if anyone can fix the harm she’s done, you could.” “But I’m forty-three,” Kei murmured. “And....” “And?” “I don’t deserve it,” he said, looking distressed. “You were the one I should have fought to keep. I gave that chance away.” Karik’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh...Kei...no!” “Kei, that’s rot,” Arman said firmly. “You made a decision to accommodate me and my stupidity, and it’s one we’ve both regretted many times, though I dare say Karik had the best of it. But you would have been a wonderful father to him—and if you want to take Minan and Ryzilim on now, I’ll support you to the hilt.” “But...you’re so busy. I’m so busy...Karik, how could we?” “Well, I thought...Emia, or someone like her, could still help look after them, and Romi and I can too, and I’m sure Seiki and Mila would offer advice—Kei, there’s any number of people who would help, but they need a real Pa. Two real fathers,” he said, looking at Arman. “I can’t offer them that—and I don’t want to. I want two brothers, not two sons. I have a daughter and another child on the way. You two can raise them to be decent people, and that’s all anyone could ask.” Arman frowned. “Nephew, I accept all that, but you’re rather disregarding our age. At least, my age.”

“You swim faster than me, and you still spar with Romi. Do you really want to pass this up —again?” He flinched. “No. Kei, I really don’t.” Kei looked at him, his expression anguished, before he turned back to Karik. “I...I don’t know what to say. I understand your wish, I just don’t see how it’s practical.” “Think about it? The boys need somewhere to stay anyway, and the barracks is not really the place for that. Can they at least stay at your house for a few days?” “Of course,” Kei said promptly. “They’re wonderful boys, and I already love them to bits...that’s not the issue.” Romi rather thought it was the only thing that mattered, given all that had happened to these children. “It’s a good place to start,” he said. “Karik, let Kei decide without pressure. Right now, we need to take the boys somewhere they can rest and get used to this.” “I should go with them—but you don’t need to come with me. I’ll want you around later though.” “Are you sure?” Romi asked quietly. Karik seemed calmer but was still rather brittle. “I can find the team something to keep them occupied, and Colonel Leke won’t mind.” “No, but I do. Please? I just want life to be as normal as possible.” “Romi, we’ll make sure he’s all right,” Arman said. “I’d appreciate you continuing to liaise with the colonel for me and keeping me apprised of what’s happening. I have to go to the House at some point—I’d like to be able to give them some concrete answers.” “Of course. Karik, we should clear out the quarters of the boys’ things. Leave the rest of it to me, love.” He couldn’t prevent the shock to Karik’s system Mayl’s death had caused. He just hoped the shock Karik had given Kei and Arman wouldn’t, in the end, lead to disappointment for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 15 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kei felt Karik’s instincts to keep things as normal as they could under highly abnormal circumstances, were sound. To that end, he warned Pira and Emia, through Seiki, not to fuss or behave in any particularly different way when they brought the boys home. Minan had become rather withdrawn, and refused to be separated even for a moment from his little brother. Kei left them with Emia and Karik, since the children were the most familiar with them, and he felt it would be good for Karik. Arman left to go to the House, and after a little consideration, took Tije too, so that their home was as quiet as they could make it, and as unexciting. What the boys needed, as much as comfort and care, was time and peace to accept the news. If Minan felt more secure with his brother, then that was where they would allow him to be. Pira’s instincts were to fuss, naturally, but Kei persuaded her that the best thing she could do was to make the home as welcoming and normal as she could, though she could cook all the little treats she wanted as neither boy had much appetite, and might not do so for a while. Tempting them with tidbits would distract them and would probably be all they would manage today, at least. Pira was just one of the many things he had to consider as he turned Karik’s surprising proposal over in his mind. Really—it was utterly impractical. Pira was sixty-nine, nearly seventy, and in no fit state to run after two small and active children—they already had to get someone in to do the heavier work, much to her chagrin, though everyone had soundly rejected the idea of her moving out of the house. This would be her home as long as she lived—and no plan for the children could depend on her leaving. Kei wouldn’t stand for that, nor would Arman. He was surely too old. He would be in his dotage by the time the boys had grown up, and what they needed was a young fit person as a parent—someone like Karik and Romi, in fact. But even as he told himself that, he knew in his heart at least, he didn’t feel that old. As he sat in the garden, watching Karik and Emia with the boys, talking quietly to them and answering their questions about their mother, he felt such a pull towards them. Minan was so like Karik had been at six, and Ry-zilim was such a winning child. They would be a blessing to anyone who would take them, and the astonishing thing was that Mayl hadn’t seen it at all. Kei couldn’t understand how anyone could be immune to these two—he’d known far more obnoxious and trying children who might have repelled an unmaternal soul, but all Mayl’s sons had a sweetness about them Kei found irresistible. All day he turned it over and over, while at the same time, trying to be there to help the children—and Karik too, for his nephew had taken this news rather more to heart than they might have expected. After lunch, when the boys had gone to lie down with Emia for a much-needed

nap, and Pira went for her customary afternoon rest, Kei took Karik out into the garden again, and sat on his favourite bench. “Now, Ka-chi.” Karik gave him a stricken look, and then buried his face in his hands. Kei pulled him into a hug and held him as he shook. “It’s all right, Karik. It’s all right,” he murmured, laying his cheek against Karik’s bright blond hair. He wondered if it would be all right. Ever since Mayl had turned up, he’d been afraid for his nephew, and worried this would unbalance him. Karik hadn’t needed this on top of the business with Soza, or on top of starting a new relationship and a new career. They sat together in the warm autumn sun, Kei absorbing and soothing Karik’s turbulent emotions, wishing he had the power to make the lives of the people he loved better and happier and safer, but knowing that all he could do was be there when they needed him. That had been all he’d ever been able to do for Karik, though he would have loved to have done more for him. Been more for him. “It’s interesting, don’t you think?” he murmured, when Karik seemed a little calmer. “How things you think will be wholly bad, can be the cause of so much good? And things that are painful, can actually be worth all that pain?” Karik sat up and wiped his eyes. “Uh...like what?” “Well, like Mayl’s infidelity resulting in three wonderful people. Or what happened to you in Andon, leading to Romi and the drug discoveries. Even my giving you over to Jena and Reji. If Jena hadn’t had you, hadn’t already decided she wanted you, she might have stayed in Ai-Rutej. Reji might not have even come back to Ai-Albon, or have stayed in the north and then you would never have known him. Which would have been a terrible shame, don’t you think?” “I do. But then you’d have been my Pa.” Kei smiled. “Yes. But this way, I’ve been able to share you with two other people, and still get to know you. Three people—four, if you count Arman—have been blessed by you.” He chuckled as Karik flushed. “No modesty now, nephew. You know it’s far too late.” “I wish there had been a way for you and Pa to both be my father.” “But that’s what an uncle is for, Ka-chi. If anything had happened to your Ma and Pa, I was going to step in. It was all agreed with Fedor years ago.” “Really? But Arman....” “Well, Arman would have managed. Don’t be hard on him. That time in Utuk, with Karus dying and the war—it took a long time for everyone to heal from that. Of course, I’m very glad I wasn’t needed to step in, because nothing would be worth losing Reji and Jena over—not even you,” he said, squeezing Karik’s hand. “No one feels that way about Mayl,” Karik said, looking away, staring up at a bird which had landed in a neighbour’s tree. “I should be glad she’s gone and not interfering any more.”

“No one ‘should’ be glad about anyone’s death. If nothing else, she’s a bit of your history you probably wished you could understand better.” “Or fix.” Kei cocked his head, puzzled. “I...can’t help but feel I missed a chance to do better with her. By her. To help her in some way. Damn it—I put more effort into helping Jos than I ever did with my own mother!” Karik was shaking again, high colour in his cheeks and a slightly wild look in his eye as if he was on the verge of breaking down again. Kei put his arm around his nephew’s shoulder and squeezed a little. “Karik, Mayl wasn’t yours to fix. Jos was just a boy—a misguided and rather stupid boy, but not essentially a bad person. He’s turned out pretty well, I think, because we stepped in before he became irretrievably vicious. Mayl...was already an adult when I first met her. Yes, now you might say in Prijian society, women aren’t given a chance to develop the way you might want them to, but plenty of women of her class manage to become decent human beings. If Arman couldn’t show her how to live properly, if the birth of her children couldn’t persuade her to be less selfish, and if she was prepared to actively incite others to murder and to riot—what could you have done?” Karik’s green eyes were filled with misery. “I just thought I owed it to her. Arman never gave her a chance to be a mother to me.” “And when she had the chance—twice—what did she do? Do you think that was just the trauma of losing you?” Karik shook his head. “No, I don’t think so either. I know it’s hard, and I understand a little why you’re upset—but you have to accept there was nothing you could do for Mayl. Even the state of Darshian wouldn’t have been able to save her from her own actions. You were the one in need of help from her, just as Minan and Ry-chi were—but she refused to give it. It wasn’t that she tried to be a mother and failed—she never tried at all. I’d have had more sympathy for her if she’d been merely feckless. But she made no attempt. She never would have.” “D-do you think...blood will out?” “Hasn’t yet,” Kei said gently. “Her blood runs in Jes’s veins as well as you three boys. Is there any sign that any of you are like her?” “I hope not. I really wish Arman had been my real father, Kei. I mean...I’ve known for a while that he can’t have been, but there was this little...pretense I had sometimes....” He smiled, but tears were falling again. “That one day, he would announce that yes, I really was his boy, that I was his blood kin. Stupid, because I wouldn’t give Pa up for the world.” Kei hugged him closer and kissed his temple. “Kin is who you choose, nephew mine. Arman could not be more fond of you if you were his son by blood, and sees no difference between you or Tije, except that he’s possibly closer to you than him. I don’t distinguish between you and Keiji and Meran. You’re all my family. And now I have two more nephews.” “Or sons?” Karik said. “Won’t you even give it a try?”

“Ka-chi, is it fair? If I tried and failed, the boys would be disrupted and I would do anything to spare them pain. I can’t ask Arman to stop doing his job, and you know mine is important. What about Pira?” Karik took his hands and stared at him. “Do you want it?” He demanded honesty, and Kei gave it to him. “Yes, I do. Very much. Just as I wanted you, very much. But...practicalities, nephew.” “I know—but I really want this too. Not just because it gets me off the hook—because you’re the best person for this. You know their past, you know what’s influenced them, and you already love them.” “Other people could do that too,” he murmured. “Not as well as you. So what if you’re not likely to see their grandchildren grow to be adults? That doesn’t matter. They need wisdom and kindness—they need you, and they need Arman. Outside my Pa, you’re the finest men I know. I don’t want my brothers to have second best.” Kei smiled, shaking his head. “You do know how to flatter a person. I’ll try to find a way to do this—but no guarantees. Right now, I just want to be with this nephew and make sure he’s all right.” “I’ll be fine. I just...need time.” “Then take it, Ka-chi. Now...isn’t this nice? We don’t do this very often, do we. When you and Romi get a house, you need a garden.” As he chatted, he felt Karik’s spirit easing a little. His nephew would be all right. Karik was tough as tanned urs hide, and had bounced back from things that would have crushed a lesser man. If fate would just grant them a little breathing space, he’d be fine. It was a chance to talk to Karik quietly about the new team too, and the work they’d done over the summer. Mayl’s arrival had eaten into their time together, and what little time Karik had had spare, he’d had to give to Jes as was only right. Karik had a point about that—he already had a responsibility there. It wasn’t fair to deprive Jes, because her father was a very important and beloved part of her life. “Kei-chi? Ka-chi?” Ry-zilim and Minan, holding hands and looking uncertain, Emia behind them ready to help. Kei stood up, then knelt down with his arms out. The boys ran towards him and made him oof as they hit. “My, such big boys you are. Did you have a good sleep, Ry-chi?” He stroked the child’s hair back from his face. “Kei-chi, where’s Mama?” “Ry-chi, darling, she’s gone away now. Your mama can’t come home any more.”

“Ry-zilim, I told you. You have to ‘member,” Minan said. He looked exhausted, as if the hour-long nap had done no good at all. Kei put his arms out to him. “Minichi, would you like to sit on my lap for a bit? Emia, dear, would you like to get everyone some tea and those biscuits Pira made?” The one thing that seemed to really help the children was physical contact, and Kei was prepared to give them any amount of cuddles. Minan had accepted the reality of Mayl’s death and it was only Ry-zilim who had trouble with it, though he wasn’t as upset now as he had been. Minan wanted to talk about what happened when people died, and why they had to be buried, and where they went after that. Kei and Karik were as frank as they could be, and Minan seemed to understand. Ry-zilim got the idea that people who died were buried and then their bodies disappeared— he just didn’t seem to be able to connect it with his mother, or at least, hold the connection in his mind. Kei thought he might need to see her body again, and possibly experience the funeral before he really ‘got’ it. Kei hadn’t had much experience with orphans this young before—he would have to get advice. Arman and Tije arrived late afternoon, Kei’s lover having to make an effort to smile, his emotions dark and troubled, though he said nothing of what was on his mind. Kei knew better than to press him, at least now. As they were losing the daylight, Karik said he should go, but that brought on a new crisis, because Minan didn’t want him to go away in case he didn’t come back. Karik looked at Kei helplessly—Kei decided to be firm for Karik’s sake. “Now, Minan, Karik has to go home to Romi. He’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you?” “Yes, I will." He reached inside his shirt and drew out his precious tero stone. He took it off, and then quickly looped it around Minan’s neck. “See that, Minichi? I want you to keep that until tomorrow, and when I come back, you give it to me.” Ry-zilim made a grab for it. “Me want!” Karik kept it out of his reach. “Ry-zilim, no. Not this time. This is something I need Minichi to do for me. No, Minan, I’m not giving it to him. This is something for you.” Kei reinforced Karik’s words with a stern look at Ry-zilim, who subsided—it had only been curiosity, really. Once he settled, Karik touched the stone. “Now you have to be very careful with it because it’s something important. Can you look after it for me until tomorrow?” Minan nodded, picking the stone up and looking at the way the colours changed as he twisted it. “Really come back, Ka-chi?” “I really will. I just have to go home and have supper with Romi, so he won’t be sad. You don’t want Romi to miss me, do you?” “No, Romi will cry.” “Yes, he will. Ry-chi? You be a good boy and I’ll see you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow,” Ry-zilim repeated.

Karik kissed them both, then gave Kei a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll be all right.” “I know it, nephew mine.” He watched him leave, hoping Romi would be able to handle him, and then turned his attention back to his little charges. Karik would manage. With love and time, they all would.

~~~~~~~~ It was with profound relief that Arman closed the bedroom door behind them. “What a bloody day,” he said, sighing. “Why do I sense you’ve got even more bad news to impart?” Arman gave his lover a wry smile. “Because you’re a soul-toucher and you know me very well. Do you want this now? It can wait. It won’t get any worse for waiting.” Kei kissed him, and Arman allowed himself to indulge in the taste of those beautiful lips, to look into Kei’s well-loved eyes, and to be glad he was not alone in this, that Kei had been there to help those Arman loved and who loved him. “I think I’d rather know. Will it harm the boys?” “No. But it’ll hurt Karik, if we tell him. Whether we do that is the thing we need to decide.” “Then let me give you a massage because I can feel your headache, and then you can tell me. I need to have my hands on you.” As Arman needed to have them on him, for it had been a disjointed and distressing day, and the news he had got that afternoon, in confidence, had not made any of it better. He had been very careful not to show any of it in his expression or his manner, but there were no secrets from Kei, nor did he want any. He lay down and then moaned a little with pleasure as Kei’s skilled, strong hands worked the tense muscles of his neck. “Is Karik going to be all right?” “I think so. He feels guilty over Mayl, which I think I’ve convinced him is stupid, but one can hardly blame him. He wants to make sure his brothers don’t suffer. For some reason, he thinks we’re the answer.” Arman twisted his head, trying to look behind him. Kei’s voice wasn’t giving much away. “And?” “And...damn it, Arman, you know the problems. We don’t have room, for a start. Not if we want to have anyone else to stay.” “We have the Rulers’ House as overflow, and Jena and Reji will soon be staying with Karik. Gyo and Risa can share a room with the boys. We’d manage—we always manage.”

“And Pira? I don’t want her to be put under any strain.” “I had a word with Peika and Nera. They say that if you take the boys on, as a father, naturally your salary would be increased—and they would also be happy to authorise an allowance so we could hire someone to act both as a nurse for the boys and as Pira’s assistant. If it was done that way, then it wouldn’t hurt Pira’s feelings, and we would be able to make life easier for her.” Kei’s hands stilled. “You’ve been planning this all day?” Arman rolled over, and pulled Kei down towards him. “I’ve been thinking about it since I learned Mayl was dead, because even Pira thought it was a shame we couldn’t take the children. When Karik made that suggestion, my first reaction was that we should. Then of course, I thought of all the reasons why we shouldn’t—but then I couldn’t help but wonder if the difficulties were as great as they seemed. After giving it some thought, I think they’re not.” Kei stared at him. “You’d really do this—for me?” “No. For us. A second chance. You don’t get many of them. You know Karik’s right—those boys would flourish with you as a father.” “But...won’t you mind sharing me? What about them being Mayl’s boys?” He only smiled. “Karik’s Mayl’s boy too—I got over that a long time ago. As for sharing....” He reached around and gave Kei’s braid the gentlest of tugs. “I’ve had twenty-three years of you all to myself, and for twenty-three years, you watched someone else raise the child you wanted so badly. The time’s right to give you—and me—a chance to experience fatherhood for ourselves. We can do this. It won’t be easy and I dare say there will be times when I’ll regret ever saying this. But I won’t let you have the regret of losing this chance again. If you don’t want it, say so. But if you want it, I will shift heaven and earth to make it work. I swear it.” Kei leaned in and kissed him again. “Gods, you’re magnificent. And if I haven’t told you recently, let me remind you I love you very, very much.” What a romantic fool he was, to still get a thrill at hearing those words from Kei’s mouth. “Do you want it? Do you think the boys want it?” “I want it. I love them already. I did almost from the first. As for them...you can see how little they need to be happy. If she had given them just a bit more of herself, they wouldn’t have needed more.” “She wasn’t capable. But you have more than enough for them, and they already respond to you. Considering they only learned about Mayl this morning, I think they’re both remarkably calm, and you have to take the credit.” “I can’t take the credit for all of it.”

Arman only shook his head. “It’s you they’re looking to for support, you they trust. You and Karik will both be very important to them. I spoke to Seiki about it, and she agrees completely.” “Been a busy little Ruler, haven’t you?” Kei kissed him again, then sat up. “Roll over—I haven’t done with the massage.” Arman readily obeyed. “I want some time to think. I want to be sure the boys would be happy and that we can manage. It would be a disaster if we settled them here and then had to move them.” “Agreed. Take the time you need. But you know I’m right.” “You’re always right,” Kei said, a smirk in his voice. “Um...but the bad news. Very bad?” “Sordid, really. We found the man who’d left Mayl’s body in the cart, and he’s confessed his role. He was paid to take a woman from another man—as yet unidentified—and to give her a draught of juice laced with a drug. Now all he had were his instructions—take the woman, give her the drug, bring her to the docks and leave her there. He didn’t know the woman, and barely saw her face since it was covered with a veil—the woman already knew she was to take the drug. But when he got her to the dock, he found she was dead, and took fright. Seiki managed to find him because he’s been chewing on it all day and wondering how to get away.” “Why drug her...ah, to avoid the mind-speakers? No one person knew all the details, or identity. Clever. But who and why?” “The ‘why’ is almost certainly the price on her head. I suspect Utuk’s hand in it, though at what level, I have no idea. It’s not something Tir Kamus will admit, is it?” “Does he know?” “Yes. He viewed the body and accepted my and Tije’s formal identification. He said it was regrettable but that Mayl had brought it on her own head. He wasn’t exactly weeping over it.” Kei’s hands kept up their delicious, healing movement on his back, and the headache and strain had disappeared, leaving a wonderful languor. He rather regretted bringing this up tonight —he would much rather be making love than talking about pissing Mayl, but the conversation had to happen sometimes. “So...it’s neatly solved the dilemma. Considerate of someone. Do you think she was meant to die?” “The reward was for her alive, so no—if the reward was all that was on offer.” “And no idea who?” “Not with any certainty. However, I’ve seen a list of the ships leaving dock last night and this morning, and one of them was the ‘Havernia’. That’s the same boat she came in on, we’ve managed to determine. Kei—the physician on the ‘Havernia’ is a man calling himself ‘Lero’.” Kei went still. “Soza?” he whispered. “Are you serious?” “Completely. What I suspect happened is that he realised who Mayl was on the journey out, and arranged to have a watch kept on her until he could return. He or his agent must have

managed to contact her at some point—it wouldn’t have been hard to slip notes and things to her, in the park or on the beach. And I wouldn’t be surprised if, when we investigate it some more, we find that the man who recruited the person who enticed Mayl off the beach was Soza, and that he provided the drug. Possibly the same drug he used on Karik.” “And he messed it up—or his henchman did. If he used gerot, it’s easy to get the dose wrong, but he’s probably arrogant enough that he thought he couldn’t make a mistake. Arman, we can’t tell Karik. Does Romi know?” “Yes. And he agrees—for now. None of it’s proven. We can tell him she died more or less accidentally, and the probable reason. We don’t have to say more.” “No. If we can prove it was Soza, then we tell him. But there’s no need to bring all this up, especially not now.” Kei stopped his massage, and lay down beside Arman, who put his arm around him. “Do you think Mayl knew him? On the Welensi Islands?” “No idea. It’s certainly ironic if she did.” He raised his hand and stroked Kei’s cheek. “The best thing we can do for Karik is help him keep his new-found brothers close to him. They’re already precious and given his history, if they have to be sent outside his family, it will hurt him deeply. They’re his only blood. It makes a difference. You, me, we have blood kin. Now he has too.” “I know all that. I just want it to be right.” “My love...it doesn’t have to be perfect. That’s something I’ve realised after all these years, watching people raise their children, coming to understand how I was raised. All that matters is that it’s good enough and that there’s love behind it. The boys are resilient, and will have so many people who we can call on to help. What they need is a constant—up to now, that’s been Mayl. Karik could be that, but so could you.” “Us.” “Us. Together.” Kei closed his eyes and nuzzled against Arman’s whiskery cheek. “So long as we’re together, we can do anything, you and me.” “Quite. Fate doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 16 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Since the Prij didn’t want her, and no one else had a preference, it was decided Mayl would be laid to rest in the Darshianese manner, at sundown. All day, her body had lain in the mortuary, flowers at her feet and head, a soldier respectfully on guard, and for two hours before they were due to leave, Karik had sat in vigil as a dutiful son would do. He felt very strange—he’d always imagined that the first time he’d do this would be for his Ma or his Pa. No one expected him to do it, or asked him to. He just felt...he should. Romi had sat with him too, quietly comforting. People dropped by to pay brief, polite respects—Romi’s colonel, their team, other soldiers who were friends. No one knew what to say, and Karik couldn’t pretend he was bowed down by grief, but he was glad, in a strange way. He’d almost wondered if his biological mother would be tipped into her grave like so much waste. At least this was an acknowledgement she’d been a human being, however flawed. Arman and Tije arrived ahead of Kei and the boys. Tije bowed respectfully, and murmured words Karik recognised as Prijian prayers for the dead—strictly speaking, they should not have been said over her, but he appreciated the gesture. Arman was impassive, staring down at her cold, pale face. Karik wondered what he was thinking, and if he was sad at all. Perhaps it was simply, as it was for Karik, a part of his history that had never really been dealt with. Kei turned up a few minutes later, the boys brushed and clean, looking a little scared and carrying flowers. Minan held his brother’s hand tightly. Kei led them over to the body. “Minan, Ry-zilim, this is when you can say goodbye to your mama. You can take as long as you want. Or you can go outside if you want to.” Minan looked up at Kei. “Will she hear, Kei-chi?” “I believe somewhere she’s listening, dear.” “Mama?” He reached out and touched the dead woman’s face, but pulled his hand back quickly. Karik guessed he’d been shocked by the feel of the body. He looked up at Kei, who nodded. “Goodbye, Mama. I’ll be a good boy.” Karik’s filled with painful tears at the sound of the broken little voice, and would have swept his brother into a hug if Kei hadn’t beaten him to it. “Of course you will be. You are a good boy. The best boy. Both of you. Ry-zilim—do you want to say anything? You can touch her if you like.” Ry-zilim shook his head and buried his face against Emia’s leg. Kei looked at Arman. “Then we should go.”

Romi stepped out to have the cart brought around, and when he came back in, he, Kei, Karik and Arman took the corners of the bier on which Mayl lay. “Now, gentlemen,” Arman said, then they carried it out onto the verandah. To Karik’s surprise, there was a small honour guard, with Colonel Leke in charge. The colonel snapped up straight. “Troops, attention! Salute!” And so Mayl was taken to the cart like an honoured Darshianese, saluted and garlanded, and laid respectfully under a sheet in the back. Her sons, Kei, Tije and Emi followed behind in the calash while Arman and Romi drove the cart the quarter mile to one of the civic cemeteries. There was another surprise waiting for them—they weren’t to be the only mourners. Lords Peika and Meki, Lady Nera, Seiki, Neka and Jera—and the Prijian ambassador—were there, ready to join in the simple ceremony. As oldest child, and, in theory, chief mourner, it would normally fall to Karik to speak, but he had felt unable to say anything that wouldn’t sound like rank hypocrisy. Arman might have done, but his uncle clearly felt it inappropriate to do so either. In the end, Lord Peika spoke, acting as nominal clan head. “My friends, we come to bid farewell to Mayl of Utuk, and to offer our condolences to her children, Karik, Minan and Ry-zilim, on their loss. At the end of each life, there is sorrow. Naturally we grieve for the person we have known and who has gone. But we know too that we shall return, reborn, cleansed and ready to greet those who we have loved and lost in other lives. So, I say to the spirit of Mayl, go in peace, find atonement for your sins, and may you find happiness in your new life. We shall watch over those you left behind, and care for them.” Karik and Kei went to the edge of the grave in which Mayl’s body had been laid. “Boys, we have to go now,” Kei said. “If you want to say anything, we’ll wait.” Minan stared into the grave for a few moments, tightly holding Kei’s hand, but he didn’t cry. Finally he heaved a sad sigh. “Bye, Mama,” he whispered, then tossed his flower into the grave. Ry-zilim imitated him, and said goodbye also, though Karik wondered if he understood. As the gravediggers filled in the hole, Kei led the boys and everyone else a small distance away, under a tree. Little lamps were lit and passed around, since it was customary, as the grave was filled, to hold a light and think of the departed. Kei explained to the children that everyone was saying goodbye and wishing their mama luck in her new life. “Will we see her when she comes back?” Minan asked. “You might, sweetheart, but you probably won’t know it’s her. But she’ll be there somewhere. You can always speak to her spirit.” “Be a good boy,” he whispered. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” Kei knelt. “You are a good boy, Minichi. Can I ask you a big, big favour? It’s very important.” Minan nodded. “Minan, Arman and I don’t have any little boys of our own, and we

get very lonely sometimes. Do you think you and Ry-chi might like to live with us and be our little boys?” Minan bit his lip. “Will Mama find us there?” “She might do, darling, but people don’t usually know when their mamas come back, or it would get too confusing.” Minan nodded a little, but he was on the verge of tears again. “Will you come and live with us? We’d like that very much.” Arman came up and knelt also, next to Ry-zilim. “We would very much like you to be our little boys, Ry-chi, Minan.” Minan looked at him suspiciously. Arman had mostly kept his distance from the children, because of Mayl, though they knew who he was. “You’re not my Papa.” “No, I’m not, and I don’t want to take his place. I just want to look after you until you can look after yourself. Look after Ry-zilim too.” Minan gnawed his lip again, looked at Kei and then up at Karik. “Ka-chi, is it a good thing?” “Yes, Minichi, a very good thing. It’s what your mama would have wanted.” He hoped the child would never find out how much of a lie that was. He never wanted any child to know they’d been unwanted. “I think you should go with Arman and Kei-chi.” “All right, I will.” Kei hugged him, and Arman put his arms around Ry-zilim. “Thank you, Minichi. You’ve made me very happy.” Lord Peika cleared his throat—it was getting dark, and it was time for them to leave. “Everyone, may I invite you all to offer your final farewell to Mayl’s spirit?” Everyone stood, holding the lights, heads respectfully bowed. Karik still had no words to say in his heart to her. It might be wrong, but it was just how it was. The boys were sad, and he felt for them. That was as much as he could muster. Everything else was just incoherent emotion. Romi brought smiles to the children’s faces by throwing a shower of fire sprites ahead of them, leading them gently away from the grave and their loss. He and Kei let them play with the little fireballs, chasing them about, while the other adults spoke politely to each other. Karik thanked everyone for coming, as did Arman. “Ambassador, I was surprised to see you.” Tir Kamus bowed. “Ah, I’m not here in an official capacity, Tir Karik. I came to show respect to your good self and your honoured father. I am sorry for your loss, and for the boys.” “Thank you. I know they’ll appreciate it when they’re older and understand.” “Yes, of course. Ah...and I think His Serenity won’t mind me saying that her crimes die with her, and we hold no anger towards her children. If at any point, they wish to seek Prijian citizenship, their applications will be treated sympathetically.”

Karik could feel Arman’s surprise, even standing behind him. “That’s very kind, Tir Kamus. I’m sure my un...father, and uncle Kei, will raise them with a proper understanding of their heritage.” “As is right and decent, of course. My lord, good night.” They said goodnight to the others then took the two carriages back to Kei’s house. Normally when a Darshianese died, there was a meal for the mourners—often, in Karik’s experience, a time of laughter and joy and love. But nothing special had been arranged, because Kei wanted as little disruption to the children’s routine as possible. They simply sat down at the big table in the kitchen, Kei and Pira making the supper, Karik and Emia making sure the boys ate. Ry-zilim was only a little quieter than usual, and probably mainly because Minan was so subdued. He had little appetite, and Kei gently dissuaded Pira from trying to coax him to eat. “I think maybe today, it’s all right,” he said. “Karik, perhaps you and Emia could put the boys to bed. Minichi? Say good night to everyone. That’s a good boy.” He kissed his new son on the cheek, and hugged him, as did Arman, then Karik picked Minan up to take him to the bedroom. Emia carried Ry-zilim, but only after he’d got a kiss too, and a hug from Kei and Arman as well. The boys already accepted Kei as the natural voice of authority. It might take a while before they saw Arman that way but Karik thought they would settle in easily here. Much better for them than the barracks. He helped Emia undress them. Minan took the tero stone from around his neck. “Here, Kachi. I looked after it for you.” “Thank you.” He closed Minan’s hand around it. “I tell you what—you look after it some more, because I’m going to see if I can get a stone just for you and just for Ry-chi. Then we can have one each, and everyone will know you and I are brothers.” Minan nodded, staring at the stone, and then up at him. “Are you going to live here too, Kachi?” “No, Minichi, because there’s not enough room. But I visit here a lot, and I should see you at the barracks too. When you come for your jesig riding.” Ry-zilim suddenly let out a squeal, then giggled. “Jesicks.” Karik smiled. “Jesigs, yes, that’s what they sound like. Noisy creatures,” he said, tickling the boy a little. “Minichi, I’ll be around a lot. You’ll see me nearly every day, I hope.” “You’ll come back?” “Yes. I was here today, wasn’t I?” He closed his hand over the one holding the stone. “I promise to come back. But now you and Ry-chi have to have a big sleep. Are you tired?” He brushed his hand through Minan’s short curls. “Mmmm. I feel sad, Ka-chi.” “Yes, I know.” He put his arms around his brother. “It’s been a sad day for you. But it’ll get better. Goodnight.”

A hug and a kiss each, and another promise to return, and then he left them to get the rest they needed. But leaving was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

~~~~~~~~ “Poor little dears,” Pira said as Karik and the children left the room. “But I’m so glad you’ve decided to take them, Kei. I think they’re lucky little boys to have you as Pa.” “And you as Ma,” Kei said, standing to kiss her cheek. “Just think—you won’t have to bully me any more because you’ll have them.” Romi grinned as Pira smacked Kei’s hand. “I’m sure they’re much better behaved than you. Now, I’ll just clean up in here and then go to bed, I think.” “Leave it, Pira,” Arman said. “We’ve got any number of willing bodies who can wash up. You get to bed—we’ll need our rest from now on.” “Probably true. But I won’t be those boys’ Ma, your lordship. It’s bad enough this creature calls me that—I insist on grandma.” Arman grinned at her as Kei pouted. “Quite right. Good night, dear.” She accepted a kiss from him, and a bow from Tije, then went out. Romi and Tije took the rather broad hint Arman had delivered, and cleared up the supper mess. Karik came in shortly afterwards, looking rather sad and pale. Tije nodded at Romi. “Go on,” he said quietly. Romi wiped his hands and went to Karik’s side. “You all right?” “I’m fine. No, really. It’s just been a weird day. I feel tired more than anything. Arman, do you know what I mean?” “Yes, I do. I feel I ought to feel more—but I can’t. Except for the boys, of course. They were very brave today, I thought.” “They were. Any decent parent would have been proud of them,” Kei said, picking up his tea. “And now they have two,” Romi said. “Congratulations on becoming fathers.” Arman grinned, but Kei looked thoughtful. “Romi—are you absolutely sure?” “No. But that’s why it would be the wrong decision. You two are sure. And I’m already Romi-Pa—that’s enough.” Kei chuckled. “I love that name. Arman, you’ll have to be Pa—they can’t say your name anyway, and somehow, I can’t see you enjoying being ‘Armichi’.” “Gods forbid,” Arman said, wincing. “And you?” “Oh, I’ll be Kei-chi. No need to confuse them, and I don’t want to be Papa like Mekus was. I want the adoption put through as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, and this time, I’ll get it registered in Utuk. There won’t be anyone to object.” Karik bit his lip at that—Romi wondered if he remembered events seven years before, or if something else was bothering him. “I’ve decided.” Everyone looked at him. “I’m going to write to Cirin.” “Ka-chi? Why?” “Because...he deserves to know. And because the boys deserve an acknowledgement. I want to write to Zexu too, because he’s been so good to them and he must be worried—he probably has no idea where they went. I’m sick of the truth being hidden from people. The boys can’t be raised in a lie, or in ignorance. Promise you’ll tell them the truth this time, Arman.” Uncle and nephew stared at each other, until Arman laid his hand over his heart and made a little bow. “I swear it. But Karik—Cirin won’t thank you.” “I really don’t care. He shouldn’t have slept with her if he couldn’t handle the consequences, and for all you know, he’d be pleased to know. He’d probably like to know what happened to her.” Tije came over to the table, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Karik, if you would allow me to, I can arrange it with Father, handle it personally. It would be an honour to be of assistance.” Karik stared up at his cousin in surprise. “Um...that would be great. Thank you, Tije. You must be horrified by all this—it’s not a pretty story.” “No, it’s not. But today I got another two cousins who I think will be very fine men, my uncles have two new sons, and my cousin, two new brothers. I think that’s worth celebrating. My family will offer prayers at the temple for your happiness, Karik, uncle Arman, Kei.” “Thank you, Tije,” Arman said, looking pleased, if rather surprised. “And in fact, I think we should drink to our sons, and to their brother. It’s the least we should do.” So Arman broached their small store of Prijian wine, and solemn toasts were offered in the children’s name. “But this isn’t the Darshianese way to do things,” Kei said once glasses were emptied. “There should be a party. Noise, food, beer. Especially beer.” “Kei, once Reis and the others find out, there’ll be a party, trust me,” Romi said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the barracks wanted to do something. Beer is guaranteed if they do.” Kei gave him a grin for that—the barracks’ brew was justly famous, and Kei was an enthusiast. “That honour guard,” Karik said. “That was really nice of the colonel. I just hope he didn’t arrange it because he thought I was grief-stricken, because I’m not. I’m not glad she’s dead but I’m not sorry either.” “I think that sums it up for all of us,” Arman said, setting his glass down. “I suspect it was offered as a mark of regard for you, and respect for the boys. It was a kind gesture, like Kamus being at the funeral. I must say that astonished me.”

“Do you think that means Utuk approved of her murder?” Romi asked. Karik stiffened, but Romi saw no reason to sugar-coat the reality. He already hated having to conceal some of the possible facts from him, but Mayl hadn’t died of natural causes, that much was certain. “No, I think it means Utuk is, as the Rulers are, grateful that we’ve avoided a potentially dangerous conflict. We’re already arranging for that treaty to be renegotiated.” “She tried to escape her responsibilities and her punishment, but found death,” Karik said. “It’s justice, but harsh.” “But still justice,” Tije said quietly, but then he looked at Kei. “Sometimes, mercy doesn’t have a chance to operate.” “But yet there is mercy, Tije. The children didn’t have to watch her die, or be taken screaming from her grasp. This could have been worse for them.” Tije acknowledged Kei’s words with a nod of his head. Romi wondered what the hell this was all about. Karik was pale and drawn—it had been a long and perfectly awful day—and they needed to get the cart and jesigs back, so Romi said they’d better go. Karik promised to be back in the morning, and the details of the boys’ care would be thrashed out over the coming days. After hugs and handshakes, Romi got his lover into the cart and drove them slowly back to the barracks, fire sprites lighting their way. Karik said nothing, leaning on him while lost in his thoughts. Romi kept his arm around him while he got them home. They only had the briefest of washes—Karik just wanted to get back to their own quarters and privacy. Once behind closed doors, Romi took Karik into his arms and kissed him. “How do you feel?” “Numb. I was looking at her body, the grave and...I just couldn’t feel anything.” “I think perhaps you did, but it wasn’t what you thought you would. She’s beyond your help or concern now. All that matters is the boys. Did you see Kei and Arman? Already they love being parents.” Karik gave him a small smile. “They are, and I know this is the right thing to do. Kei was born to be a father, and so was Arman. I...think I know what it’s been like for him all this time. Kei, I mean, watching me with my parents. When I walked out of their room tonight, it was such a wrench. I just wanted to stay and look after them.” “You will, love. They can’t do this on their own, and they need you. The boys will look to you for advice and love, and I know they’ll get it. Mayl didn’t care what happened to them, but though she didn’t mean to, bringing them here was the best thing she could have done for them.” “She seems to have had a knack of finding people to do what she couldn’t,” Karik said, sounding slightly bitter. “Better that than nothing—if they’d only had her, the boys would probably be almost past saving.” “Yes. I need to find someone who can dig me up a couple of tero stones.”

“I’ll set the team on it as an exercise,” Romi said, kissing his forehead. “Now, to bed.” “Make love first?” “You need to ask?” Karik smiled a little as Romi pinned his wrists behind him, then plundered his mouth. “If we don’t make love, I’ll be very disappointed.” “Can’t have that, can we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bearing Fruit: 17 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Your letters, my lord.” Arman looked up and accepted the small pile of envelopes from his assistant. “Thank you. I’ll be leaving in an hour or so, Jia—you could go now if you wanted.” “Yes, my lord. Thank you. Say hello to the boys for me.” Arman smiled and agreed. His sons were the pets of the House—the first Ruler’s children in nearly ten years, though there had been grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. It was something of an effort to avoid the boys being spoiled. He looked through the mail and saw there was one from his father, attached to a small parcel. He slit the seal and opened it. Oh, you sentimental old.... He looked at the signature, and felt his eyes getting a little itchy. ‘Your loving father, Armis.’ Not at any time in the past forty-nine years had his father signed any note to him that way. Arman folded it carefully, and would keep this letter safe—his father wasn’t the only sentimental member of their family. Nothing from Karik, but then with communications so slow and this trip being so short, Arman didn’t expect one. He’d had a letter a month ago saying they’d arrived safely and that recruiting and training had started. Karik and Romi should be back within weeks, which would be a relief to everyone, especially the boys, who had had some difficulty accepting the idea of him going away for a long time, but then coming back. In their limited experience, people who went away for a long time, never returned. Karik was determined to prove them wrong, and Arman fervently hoped he always would. There was nothing much else of significance in the post. Nothing from Cirin, but that also wasn’t unexpected. That he’d replied at all to Karik’s note had been a considerable surprise to Arman, and that the letter, while very stiff and formal, had thanked Karik for letting him know about Mayl and about the existence of two sons, had surprised him even more. Cirin hadn’t exactly invited Karik to stay, but he’d sent a gift of a hundred gelden for Minan and promised to send more when the boy was older. He’d also asked Karik to keep him informed of their progress, and said that should either of them need assistance, Karik should ask because he would not be refused. Cirin, whatever his woeful taste in women, was clearly neither dishonourable nor a coward. Arman was grateful for that, and for him not rejecting Karik as Arman had been sure he would. He’d thought there had been good breeding in the lad—and he’d been proved right.

He opened the oiled leather pouch and looked at the items enclosed therein—three exquisitely carved, silver-chased seals. Identical. His father was a great believer in symbols and appearances, and Arman wondered if Karik would appreciate what his legal grandfather was saying here. Arman certainly did, and sent silent thanks to his parent. Thanks—and love. “Good breeding in me too, Father,” he whispered. He carefully repacked the seals, and placed them in his document wallet. Then he cleared his desk, and took off his robes. These days, he was very prompt about leaving no later than five, often as early as four, and that was on the days when he wasn’t at home or off. His routine had changed quite a bit, as he’d known it would when he’d urged Kei to adopt Minan and Ry-zilim. He spent two whole days away from the House every week—one at home, half working, half taking the children to the barracks for a riding lesson and other amusements, and one completely free, with Kei. Kei did the same, and one or both of them always ceased work early to collect the boys, Minan from the little academy school for the staff’s children, and Ry-zilim from the crèche where Seiki worked. Two or three evenings a week, as they would tonight, they returned to the House, and Arman and Kei would work for a few hours after the children went to bed, or Arman attended meetings—but when they were at home, no one disturbed them for professional reasons. And these days, Arman often delayed arriving at the House until Kei and the boys could accompany him. Somewhat to his surprise, his productivity had hardly altered. It just meant he did things faster, and arranged matters so he delegated more and relied more on his assistants. Kei had ditched a little teaching, delegated other tasks, and simply refused additional duties. Between that and Marta, the young woman who worked at their home three mornings and two afternoons a week, they managed very well. Maybe it was just age, but Arman found that giving up some of his duties and the time he spent working at the House, was no burden at all. Or maybe it was the joy at going to the crèche and seeing a happy little boy running to him, carrying an unidentifiable blob of raw clay, and yelling “Pa! Pa! Look what I did!” If someone had told him even a year ago how absurdly happy it would make him to be called ‘Pa’ by one of Mayl’s children, or to have that child jump into his arms and demand a ride, he would have called them fools to their faces. Which made him a fool, he thought fondly. “Hello, Ry-chi—what on earth is that supposed to be?” “A lemul, Pa.” “I see. It’s got...five legs?” “Dat’s the tail, Pa.” “Oh. Oh yes. Not sure the tail goes quite like that, but yes, now I can see it’s not a leg.” “Tail, Pa.” “Yes, son. Hello, Seiki. Has he been good?”

“I’ve been extra good!” Seiki chuckled. “Yes, you have, Ry-chi. Don’t get clay on your Pa’s shirt now. Why don’t you leave your animal here to dry and then you and Pa can go for your swim.” “Swim! Yes, swimming, Pa?” “In a minute. How’s Mila and Hali?” “Fine. You only just missed them. Mila brought her in for a check over. But she took Jes back a few minutes ago.” “Ah, well, we’ll see her at supper next week.” “Pa, Jei-chi made a worm with hair!” “Did she? Why ever for?” “Cos she said it needed it.” Ry-zilim nodded as if this made perfect sense. Seiki just grinned. Arman had already learned it was better not to question some of the more extraordinary things that came out of four-year-old mouths. “Well, it might have done.” He kissed Seiki on the cheek. “Right, young man. We need to find Minan and Kei-chi and then go for the swim.” “Swim! Yes!” Ry-zilim was a child of intense likes and dislikes, Arman had found, and he had an abiding curiosity about everything, which often meant he got into things he shouldn’t. But his sheer lust for life was so appealing—it made Arman re-examine almost everything through his enthusiastic eyes, and find it new. Though they wore him out, he almost felt like the years were stripping off him with every week. Kei and Minan were waiting for them in the schoolroom, Kei with Minan on his lap, reading a story to him. “Oh, hello, you two. Ready for a swim?” He spoke in Darshianese as he nearly always did with them, to encourage them to learn it. Ry-zilim had already picked up enough to understand all that, and answered in the same language. “Uh huh. Kei-chi, I made a lemul!” “Did you? I thought only other lemuls could make lemuls. Well, I never.” Minan grinned at his father’s joke. “I suppose we better go and have that swim. Unless we should dig a hole instead? I think the gardener wanted to dig holes—what do you think, Minichi?” “Swim, please,” he said firmly. Kei ruffled his hair. “Well, you said please, so I guess it’s a swim.” He got up and kissed Arman’s cheek. “Any news?” “A letter from Father—tell you when we get back. Nothing bad,” he hastened to add. They’d had to alter their exercise habits to fit in with the children’s smaller strength and stamina, though Arman found that just running around after the two of them was enough exercise at times. Mile long swims were out, short dashes and lots of splashing and chases were in, as

were sand castles, hole digging, shell hunting and running around on the sand. They had started to get to know the other regular visitors to the beach, and invariably one or more children would come over and say hello. Arman had also discovered that children were the ultimate conversation starter—he’d had to get used to people casually dropping by and introducing themselves. To his surprise, he not only had grown used to it, but also liked it. Kei of course, was Kei, and to him, this was all wonderful. More people to talk to and to be friends with—for him, that was what made life rich. Kei was finally and completely in the perfect environment for him—and Arman and the boys all basked in his happiness. During the winter, keeping the boys active and amused had been a bit of a struggle, though Karik and Romi had done their bit, and fortunately their departure to Andon had not been long before the water became warm enough to swim in once again. Now, after a long swim and the walk back to the Rulers’ House, even the boys’ abundant energy was almost exhausted. There was just enough to bathe, eat supper, and then have stories read to them, sometimes in Prijian, sometimes in Darshianese, before they dropped off to a well-deserved sleep. Then Arman and Kei could have their time together, even if it did mean sitting at the same desk, working on papers, for a couple of hours. Finally, Kei sat back and cricked his neck. “Oh, enough of that. If I’m confusing timkir with tertrir, I’ll end up writing a prescription which will kill someone. Or at least make them wish they were dead. Are you done?” “Yes.” He had a little more to do, but then he always had a little more to do, and there were more important things in his life—like this beautiful man next to him clearly in need of a kiss, and who got one. And another, just to be sure. In moments, they moved to the couch so they could cuddle and kiss a little more, Kei’s hands inside his shirt and all over him. But in all too short a time, and with his eyes almost crossed with lust, Kei somehow managed to sit up and make an effort to be sensible. “Ah...you know, if one of them wakes up and comes out here....” Arman sighed. This was true, unfortunately. “Then let’s go to bed.” The boys had been told they could come into the bedroom, but to try and remember to knock. So far, they’d been good about that—Arman suspected that was Mayl’s training more than anything. But the living areas were open, and he and Kei had to be responsible. Kei hated being responsible. Arman was beginning to see why. “Wait—that letter? From your father?” “Ah...yes, of course.” He straightened his shirt and adjusted his erection, to Kei’s amusement. “Oh, stop it—you do this deliberately.” “Yes, I do because you’re so handsome when you’re mussed.” “Now I know why you have such an affinity for Ry-zilim—you’re only about three yourself.”

“And proud of it. Letter?” Arman fetched it and the oilcloth packet—he handed Kei the packet first. His lover’s eyes widened as he saw the beautiful seals. “Gods, they’re lovely.” He squinted at the design. “Isn’t that the same as the one you brought from Utuk?” “Yes. Only this mark here,”—he indicated it near the rim—, “means it’s the son of the crest holder. Mine has a similar mark, making it distinct from Father’s. The son’s crest is always the same, only with a slight alteration. “ Kei held the seals in his palm. “Three...Minan, Ry-chi...and Karik?” “It’s Father’s way of acknowledging them. Read his letter—he says he presumes I wouldn’t have thought of having them made, so took the liberty of arranging them. Normally they would be given to a son at eighteen, ah....” “But he won’t be around then,” Kei said quietly. “It’s a lovely thing to do—but Karik?” “Karik is my son by Prijian law. Father is his grandparent by Prijian law. He can’t announce two new grandchildren to the court as he’s done, and ignore the first and legal one. It’s not that he doesn’t know, Kei. He’s simply saying that Karik has claims upon him, as do our own sons, in law and by moral right too. As he does.” Kei looked at the seals again, then wrapped them carefully up in the oilcloth. “He’s welcoming them to the clan—blood or not, they are his kin and clan.” “Yes. Not how we put it, but yes. And putting them under his protection, rather as Zexu did with those pendants.” A parcel had arrived only two weeks before, containing two beautifully carved and inlaid ovals, depicting dolphins. The verbal message that came with it said Zexu was very happy to learn the children were safe, and that the pendants were symbols of his tribe. They would protect the boys against evil and drowning. The boys now wore them along with the tero stones Karik had obtained for them—the stones, Arman now realised, were Karik’s own way of symbolising his protection of his brothers. A lot of people were watching out for those two children. “People didn’t say anything about you adopting Mekus’s supposed son?” “Oh, I imagine the announcement at court caused something of a stir. I also imagine he loved every bit of it, the old bastard.” Kei grinned. “I think he probably did. I wonder who was more taken aback—the Mekus faction or the anti-Mekus faction?” “I don’t know—I’m hoping Tijus will tell me more, or that Tije will. Ah and—Kei, he’s invited us all to Utuk so he can meet them.” “This year? I don’t know that we can, and the boys are just settling down...but if we wait until next year....” Kei looked stricken. “We’ll just have to go. He should meet them. It’s important.” Arman kissed him, and slid his arm around him. “Yes it is, but if we don’t get there in time, then he’ll understand. That’s why he sent the seals. There are letters for the boys and for Karik

too which they can open when they’re ready. Even if he dies before we get there, the boys are already claimed and will remain kin, part of the line of Armis, forever. He’s even altered his will to include them—and Karik. To a Prij, that’s about the strongest statement you can make about how important someone is to you.” “Still...he’s such a remarkable person, and our boys are such wonderful children...it would be a shame if they never met. We should see if we can entice Karik down there too.” “Karik met him, actually. However, it would be nice if they could meet when Karik wasn’t petrified and Father wasn’t being grand Senator Armis. And I wasn’t being a complete arse to the boy.” “You never told me about this, beloved.” “Because I’m ashamed of myself, that’s why. Karik’s forgiven me—but I still consider my behaviour inexcusable.” Kei sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll have to make you sit on the naughty stool. How long should you get?” “Oh, years, I suspect.” “Very likely,” he said dryly. “We should try to go there this year though. I did say I’d try for the academy too, and you know Romi wants to take Karik to Urshek and visit friends in Temshek.” “Then we’ll try. But if we can’t—my father and I have made our understanding. Life will go on, as it has for our sons, as it will for me. My father’s spirit will live within me, within Tijus and his children, and I hope, through example in the boys. I’ll mourn, but I won’t regret.” Kei kissed him gently, then put his arms around him. “You’d make him very happy to know that. He wanted me to tell you that he loved you and he was very, very proud of you. I told him to tell you himself.” “He did.” He had never cried in front of his father before, but he had that day. And...his father had shed tears too. Gruff, embarrassed, dashed away as insulting tears, but tears nonetheless. Said the words that were so very precious to hear, and cried. Arman had not even been able to talk to Kei about that memory because it was so painful, so...much. It would live forever in his heart. But it might always be something that he couldn’t bear to share. “Now, I believe we were talking about bed?” “Talk? Talking about bed is the last thing I would do, my lord. I would think flinging you down and having my wicked way with you would be much more my style, don’t you think?” “Have at, Master Kei, only keep it down this time—Ry-chi asked me if we had jesigs in the bedroom yesterday. He was most put out that we were hiding them from him. Can’t imagine where he got that idea from.”

Kei just grinned as he got to his feet and pulled Arman up with him. “Then I think we either have to investigate gags or thicker doors because the last thing I’m going to do when I’ve got you all alone is restrain myself.” “Perhaps I’ll have to do that.” “Only if you catch me!” Kei ran into the bedroom, laughing like a loon. Arman shook his head and followed more sedately. Forty-three going on two. Just how he liked him. The end

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The nice thing about a lover with a perfect arse and long legs, Juimei thought happily, was how very splendid it was to watch them move. His grace, the count Mikinze of Wedeiloizui, was most assuredly aware how much pleasure he gave as he bowed. “Blessings upon this joyous day, your highness. May you have many more birthdays to come.” Juimei smiled graciously at the elaborate flourish, admired how Miki’s natty short jacket did very fine things for his impressively broad chest and his firm posterior, and grinned at the wink his count gave him as he straightened up. “Thank you. Do I get a kiss too?” His lover smirked and remedied the offence with enthusiasm. “My apologies, your highness. Perhaps this might take away the scent of my error?” From his jacket pocket, he produced a small wooden box inlaid in iridescent shell and stones, with an intricate pattern that suggested leaves, or perhaps feathers, depending on how it was turned. An exquisite piece, the artistry immediately recognisable as being from the Kefensel workshop, the best in Visiqe. “But I have hundreds of jewellery boxes, Miki.” Juimei got a pitying look for that as he took the thing from Mikinze’s hand, then opened it. He could only stare in astonishment at the lovely object before him. “Oh...my word.” Mikenze stroked his moustache and gave him a sly smile. “I very much doubt, your highness, that you have hundreds of these.” Miki looked smug—as well he might. The ring nestling inside the box, cushioned on fine gem-cloth, was superb—jet black ifino, inset with red gems and pearl stone in the form of Juimei’s own personal crest. It shone dully with hidden fire as Juimei twisted it, an elegant and clever example of the gemsmith’s craft. He slipped the heavy ring onto his finger—a perfect fit, of course. Miki’s attention to detail was, as ever, immaculate. “Miki, it’s magnificent, but far too much—” Miki reached over and put a finger on his lips, his eyes slitting with suggestion and promise. “Not at all,” he said, his voice, as it ever was, a silken thing with undertones of sex and intrigue. “Nothing is too much to show the depth of my regard for you, my dear highness.” “Miki....” His lover pulled him close, the beautiful jewellery box tumbling carelessly to the carpet as Juimei was crushed possessively to Miki’s hard, perfect body. “Thank you,” he breathed into Miki’s ear as his lover nibbled at his jaw. His moustache tickled, a surprisingly erotic sensation. Of course, it depended on where he was being tickled. Juimei had spent all winter experimenting

to find out where it could be used most pleasurably, and even now the memory of those long, dark evenings in bed with this man made him hard as stone. But Miki was just as affected. “Oh, I expect more thanks than that,” he said, deep voice gone husky. “Something...much more prolonged.” His hand cupped Juimei’s groin and massaged it with brutal skill. Juimei pushed against him eagerly, greedily, wanting even more for his birthday gift than the beautiful gem. “Much...uh...more....” A cough from behind them. Juimei disengaged without haste and turned around smoothly. “Yes, Neime?” he said, as behind him, Miki bent casually and picked up the wooden box—no need to treat such a valuable item carelessly after all. His young features set in apparently perfect subservience, his page bowed. “Your highness, his majesty requests the honour of your presence for the morning repast.” The invitation was a formality of course—birthday breakfasts were an unbreakable tradition in the palace—and Juimei wondered if Neime had wanted the opportunity to interrupt. He didn’t miss the quick, disapproving look at Miki and then at the new ornament on his hand. “Thank you —how many people have we invited this year?” “I think at least two hundred, your highness,” Neime said with a slightly rueful grin. Juimei smiled as Miki snorted with laughter behind him. “Mother’s overdone it again.” “She always said it’s your fault for being born in the spring when there’s nothing much else going on. Meant respectfully, your highness,” Neime added, glancing at Miki again. Juimei shook his head impatiently at the apology—Neime knew perfectly well he wouldn’t take offence at a remark like that, and neither would Miki. “Of course. Well, you better see what rags I’ve got that are up to the occasion.” As if Neime hadn’t spent days selecting the perfect outfit for this important occasion—it wasn’t something Juimei cared about, but Neime loved to see him nicely turned out, and his mother would be insulted if he didn’t make the effort. “In the meantime, his grace and I are going to be...um....” “Busy, your highness,” Miki said, taking his hand possessively. “For at least an hour.” “You heard his grace, Neime. And lock the door.” “Very good, your highness,” his page said, scowling. Juimei ignored the tone and the look as Miki tugged him towards the inner chamber and firmly closed the door behind them. As he took Juimei into his arms again, Miki’s mouth quirked. “He doesn’t like me. I’m crushed.” “He’s just protective of me. He’s a good lad. You have to tolerate a few eccentricities in personal servants.”

“There’s eccentricity and then there’s downright insolence,” Miki said dryly, as he began to strip Juimei. “If one of my people gave me a look like that, I’d turn them off in an instant.” “Stop talking about my bloody manservant and get on with it, your grace. I need a damn good fucking if I’m going to get through this blasted thing this morning without snapping at someone.” Miki grinned evilly as he pushed Juimei back towards the bed. “As you decree, your highness. Though, when I’m finished with you, you might need to sit on a cushion to get through it at all.” “Oh, promises, promises, your grace.”

~~~~~~~~ It was a colourful and lively assembly in the great hall. After the closed-in months of winter, with often only family and servants for company in the bitterest weather which had, this year, lasted eight weeks, people were glad to show themselves again. It was a chance to display their fresh, new wardrobes, to catch up on the gossip, speculate about the doings of government and their friends—often the same thing, in this place anyway—and to renew or begin alliances among their peers. Spring sunshine poured through the high-vaulted windows and down over elegant clothes, the modest yet carefully crafted adornments of the older nobles and councillors, and the more ostentatious jewels at the neck, ears and hands of their young colleagues. People were in high spirits—it was a happy occasion, and the spring woke up all Andonese, got their blood fizzing through veins, hearts bursting to make the most of the warmth and longer days. It was, despite his grumbling earlier, something Juimei rather enjoyed, at least in small amounts, but he was having trouble concentrating right now. Sometimes he wished Miki’s attention to detail wasn’t quite so thorough, he thought, as he squirmed, trying to ease his bottom. Neime had discreetly added another cushion, but he was still uncomfortable. “Something bothering you, my son?” Smiling brightly, he turned to his father, resplendent beside him in one of his lesser diadems, and an imposing gold chain and medallion of state around his neck. Spring had infected the royal wardrobe too, inspiring a beautifully embroidered green and yellow shirt Juimei’s mother had made with her own talented hands. “No, Father. I’m merely excited at the pleasure of being with so many of our dear friends this morning.” His father rolled his eyes, even as he acknowledged the bow of a passing noble with a graceful incline of his head. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s your mother’s idea. Always is. Makes me glad there’s only three of you.” “Yes, Father. Because then we’d have to share you even more.”

“Don’t flatter me, boy. You know I’m fond of you, don’t overdo it.” But his father smiled at him without any annoyance in his expression. “Handsome ring.” “Thank you.” Juimei didn’t feel it necessary to explain every friendship token he received. If his father wanted to know where he’d got it, he’d ask. His relationship with Miki wasn’t exactly a state secret, though they didn’t bruit it about. “The weather looks set fair for this afternoon. Should be a good tournament.” His father grunted, accepting a small glass of fruit wine from a servant before speaking. “I’ve been told the crowds are expected to be even larger this year. All the more people to watch you fall on your privileged bottom.” “You mean, uphold the honour of the line of Godiw, don’t you, Father? Someone has to, now Furneim and Siliki have retired from the field.” “I think the line of Godiw can stand the indignity of not having any princes of the blood wasting their time playing doig-ito, my son. You know it worries your mother.” “Yes, Father. I’m always careful.” “So you should be. I’ve spent a lot of time and effort training the brain inside that skull of yours. I shouldn’t appreciate having it end up smeared all over an ito field.” Juimei winced a little at the image, then smiled as one of the councillors came over to wish him a blessed birthday. “I said I’d be careful, Father. Besides, I’ll only be young once. In a year or two, I’ll be too old and then it won’t be a worry to anyone.” His father gave him a grave look, then turned to answer a question from his companion. “As you say,” he said quietly once they were left in peace. “But this isn’t a suitable topic for a birthday repast. However much of a nuisance you are, it’s still a day of celebration.” He stood, and servants rang a gong to call for attention. The noisy assembly fell silent at once, and he lifted his glass. “My friends, my loyal and wise councillors, my dear and pious wife, and my beloved children—I offer a toast to my youngest son, his highness, Prince Juimei. He has been a blessing from the benevolent god for twenty-four years, and may he remain so for many more to come. I call on Sephiz to protect him, and your good selves to pray for his continued happiness and well-being.” The guests rose at once, lifting their glasses and goblets high and cheering noisily, stamping their feet, and even whistling. Juimei grinned and bowed, and raised his glass to toast king and council in their turn, which got equally generous cheers. Even used to acclaim as he was, he was still warmed by the sincere enthusiasm, and even more by his father’s smile, his mother’s proud look, more precious to him than any gift—even a beautiful and valuable ring. Though the birthday fucking had also been damn fine, he thought somewhat ruefully as his arse twinged again. Across the hall, Mikinze lifted his glass and stroked his moustache as he smirked knowingly—it almost made Juimei laugh out loud, knowing his lover had guessed exactly what had gone through his mind just then. Oh, yes, the fucking had been very fine indeed.

The birthday repast went on for another hour, and Juimei was kept busy accepting good wishes and the occasional small gift from close friends. The rest of the day would be ordinary business, at least until the tournament, but there would be a family dinner that night in his parents’ apartments—a tradition Juimei rather enjoyed, since they had few enough opportunities to just be together as a family without courtiers. Now that his brothers were so heavily involved themselves as councillors, and he himself was taking on more duties, they hardly had time anymore for such things, but his mother insisted on their birthday suppers being kept as private celebrations. His mother, dressed in a pale blue gown that suited her rather well, came over to give him a kiss as his father rose to leave for a meeting with the council. “Happy birthday, Jui. You’re looking even more handsome than usual. And what a lovely ring.” “Thank you, Mother. Yes it is.” She lifted his hand for a closer look. “Has this anything to do with why you were shifting around like someone had stuffed a baby dowkiqu down your trousers?” she asked, smiling innocently. Juimei flushed. “Mother!” he said in a low voice. “Don’t be vulgar.” “Was I being vulgar? I thought I was merely being concerned for the health of my dear son. I suggest you look after this ring, Jui—and step along to a healer for something for the other one in case you’ve done yourself a mischief.” “Mother!” She grinned and kissed him again, patting his hand. “Such a little prude, Juimei, considering. Darling, do you really have to play in the tournament this afternoon? No one would criticise you if you pulled out for my sake.” “I would, Mother. I’m the captain and my teammates are counting on me. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Just like Furneim. He had to break his wrist before he realised how silly it was.” “Mother, he tripped over on his way to the stables.” “Yes, but he wouldn’t have even been there if he’d not been playing. Well, if you insist, I’ll be there like a dutiful parent and wave you on.” Juimei knelt before her. “Will you let me carry your favour? I would be honoured.” “Hmmm—seems to me you’re already carrying enough favours, my son.” But she undid the simple chain from around her neck, upon which hung an enamelled portrait of her husband, and placed it carefully around Juimei’s neck. She bent and kissed his forehead. “Do your best for the line of Godiw, Juimei. But play safely.” “Of course, Mother. Thank you. Sephiz will protect me.” “Yes, he will, but he and I expect you to wear your helmet anyway.”

The court rose as his parents left, and people drifted off. Juimei smiled and acknowledged greetings, but walked determinedly towards the doors, Neime at his side. “Be a good lad and find me Count Mianzin, will you, Neime? There’s time before lunch for us to talk.” Neime bowed and slipped through the throng. An amused voice made Juimei turn. “Have we time for me to soothe the pain I’ve caused you, your highness?” He wagged his finger at Miki. “You bastard. Mother actually asked after my arse, can you believe that?” “Can’t say you weren’t warned, your highness,” Miki said, his dark eyes full of evil humour. “Or that you weren’t willing. Want me to kiss it better?” “Yes, but I can’t. I have to talk to Mianzin about the finance arrangements in Gironzodei district. I promised father I’d get that sorted out today.” “But it’s your birthday. You work too hard, Jui.” Juimei poked his lover in the chest. “And you don’t work hard enough, your grace. They’ll be cutting your tax concessions if you keep this up.” “I earn my keep. Just not in obvious ways, your highness.” He turned and made a slight bow to the noble who had come to their side. “Good morning, your grace.” Count Mianzin returned the politeness, with a deeper bow to Juimei. “Blessings upon this day and you, your highness. I take it Gironzodei is on your mind?” “Yes. Shall we go to my office? Your grace, until this afternoon?” Miki bowed, raised a disobedient eyebrow at him and then walked off. Juimei tried not to think of how much more enjoyable it would be to follow the man than to spend two hours locked in dry though essential discussions over funding in the northwest, then smiled at his noble companion, took his arm, and led him away. The meeting took longer than he’d hoped, and once he had dismissed the count, Tezrei Edikio had begged a few moments of his time since he was heading back to Tsikiugui the following day and had several matters he wanted advice on. By the time he was done, it was long past noon, and only an hour or so before he was due at the ito field. Neime, used to his habits, had arranged a spare, simple lunch for him in his office, and joined him to eat at his invitation, as he often did. Neime put a small pot of medicinal cream on his desk next to the tray—Juimei raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Her majesty asked me to pass it on. She thought you might neglect the injury.” “Ah—and did you remind her about it, Neime?” “No, your highness. I figured you must enjoy the suffering, to incur it in the first place.” Juimei sighed, and rested his chin on his hand so he could look at his page. “You don’t like the count. Why?”

Neime scowled. “Not my place to say.” “Never stopped you before and you know it. He said I should turn you off for your insolence.” The lad looked at him with startled hurt. “Your highness? Would you?” “No. But I’d like to know what offence he’s given you. He’s one of the most senior nobles in my father’s court, you know. An important man. Kin, though distantly. If nothing else, it would be diplomatic to feign politeness towards him. You’re smart enough to know that.” Neime scowled. “He’s lazy. Arrogant and lazy. Not your match by any measure, Juimei.” “So you’re jealous. Want to be warming my bed yourself, do you?” “No! Your highness!” “So you don’t find me attractive?” Neime clenched his jaw and stood. “If my services aren’t required here for the moment, your highness....” He reached over and tugged on Neime’s jacket. “Oh, sit down, lad, I’m only teasing. By Sephiz’s beard, I thought you had a sense of humour.” Neime sniffed. “Not about that man, no. He’s only using you to advance himself.” “Hardly. He doesn’t need me to do that. I appreciate your concern for my welfare, but....” Juimei glanced down at the beautiful ring on his finger. “His grace may become a rather more permanent part of my life at some point.” “Are you...you really would life-bond to him?” Neime’s mouth hung open in surprise. “Truly?” “I’m considering it, certainly. Would that make your position impossible?” His page bit his lip, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I swore to serve you for the rest of my life, whatever happens, unless you turn me off. But....” He looked up. “I would always think you could have done better. Will you really bond with him?” “Maybe. I don’t want to hurt you, and I certainly don’t want you to serve me if it causes you offence. If I decide to bond with him and he accepts, I’ll find you an honourable post here in the palace.” Neime’s eyes widened, but then his expression suddenly closed off. “Yes, of course, your highness,” he said dully. “Thank you.” “Neime? Is that not acceptable?” “Yes, your highness. Of course it is. Thank you.” Juimei sighed again. “It’s only a possibility, lad. As you know, he’s returning to his estate next week until the middle of autumn, so nothing will happen until then. But while he’s around, I’d like you to at least be pleasant to him, if only for your own sake. You know what it’s like here —his people could make life difficult for you, and I don’t want that in my household.”

“No, your highness.” “Good. Now eat up, and then we’d better get over to the stables. I want to check my gear again.” Neime nodded, but still seemed rather subdued. Juimei didn’t know whether to be touched by his devotion, or annoyed at the aspersion cast on his taste and sense. But Neime was a good lad—a younger son from an eastern tribe, who’d applied for a position at court and a chance to improve himself. Juimei’s mother had suggested him two years ago as a replacement for Juimei’s previous manservant who had decided to join the army. The lad had been an excellent servant, a pleasant companion, and a good friend. Having to place him elsewhere would really rankle, but if he wouldn’t get past this odd dislike of Miki.... Miki was arrogant, and lazy too. But he had a mind like a steel trap, and his estate was very efficiently run, since his laziness was of the type that saved unnecessary effort rather than avoided work altogether. He would make an excellent life-mate for a prince of the blood, and could have a place on the council for the asking. He was also, Juimei thought, concealing another wince, an incredibly gifted lover, and very devoted. A man could hardly ask for more, and Juimei certainly didn’t. In his position, there weren’t many people who would make an acceptable partner while still allowing him to follow his path at the court. Mikinze suited him very well, and really the only thing making him hesitate was the idea that his lover might not feel the same way. But glancing at the ring on his finger again, he thought he had the answer to that now. It was the kind of thing one gave in advance of a betrothal—and it was most likely Miki was only waiting for Juimei to do the asking, as was only proper given their positions. It was just a damn shame Neime was so hostile, because he was terribly fond of the lad. But he wouldn’t give up Miki just to keep his page happy—that would be utterly ridiculous, and Juimei intensely disliked the idea of appearing the fool. If Neime couldn’t get used to the idea, then he’d have to go, all regrets aside. But to preserve peace, he didn’t bring Mikinze’s name up again, and they ate lunch in companionable silence, except for Neime’s quiet questions about the meeting with Edikio and Juimei’s appointments on the following day. The lad was such an efficient assistant. The answer had to be to get him to accept Miki, and then all would be well. He didn’t want to lose either of them. The cream thoughtfully—if mischievously—supplied by his mother helped considerably, though Juimei thought he really would have to ask Miki to be a little more careful if they made love before a major tournament. His main gear was stored at the stables, but he changed into the royal team colours in his rooms, as did Neime to show support. Then they headed out for the playing field. Though it wasn’t far, there was no question of him walking there, or going with only Neime as his companion. A squad of soldiers formed a necessary barrier between him and the

enthusiasm of the crowds lining the narrow streets, all anxious to wish him a happy birthday as well. Juimei rather suspected it was his success on the ito field as much as his royal birth which made him popular, and he had no doubt a lot of money would be changing hands after the match. All quite illegal naturally—and quite impossible to stop. His father never tried that hard. Juimei, loving the sport for its own sake, found the betting distasteful, but was resigned to its existence, and just hoped some of the cheering people along the route to the field would actually enjoy the match itself. Flags with the royal colours waved everywhere he looked, though here and there he saw those of the remote districts and clans. It was a fine day—it would be a lovely spring, he could feel it in his bones. Father was right—there were a lot more people around this year for the royal tournament. Probably because it had been a harder than usual winter, so people felt a bit stir-crazy. The thaw was always eagerly awaited since one could not play on frozen ground, and it had been late this year. The royal tournament marked the start of the doig-ito season throughout Andon, and all the young bloods in Visiqe hoped to make a mark early and win honour for their tribes and families. Perhaps it was a silly game, just as mother had said—but it was a very useful way of working off excess energy and aggression, and encouraged good riding and tactical skills. It was one of the more popular recreations among the army for that very reason. The main playing field was next to the barracks, and it was the soldiers who maintained it for their own use as well as the visiting teams. His teammates were already at the stables, and he was greeted cheerfully, with best wishes for his birthday, and many promises of razika to celebrate their certain victory over the western province team, their strongest opponents. Juimei thought the royal side was better, but it all depended on how the match went on the day. He’d noted that there was still snow on the ground in parts. “Anyone checked that the ground is actually thawed?” “Yes, your highness. Can’t have you landing hard on that royal arse, can we?” Tetwei said, grinning cheekily. “I seem to recall it was you who ended up arse skywards last time we played, you brat. Neime, bring my guards and helmet over, would you? I just want to check my mount.” The doigs were all impatient, stamping their hairy hooves, and snorting as if they couldn’t wait to get out on the field. Juimei fed his chosen animal a handful of grain and patted it. “Fat little bugger,” he said, nodding at Neime. “He can do with the exercise. Maybe I should get you riding him when I can’t.” “No thanks, your highness. I’ll ride if I need to, but not for fun. Urs beasts make a better mount.” Juimei grinned. “Call yourself an Andonese? And did not Sephiz in his benevolence create these animals for our comfort and convenience?”

“Convenience, yes. Comfort—well, your highness, I imagine you’ll find out all about that in a few minutes.” Juimei rolled his eyes at the unsubtle reference to his aching bottom, and Neime laughed. He brought over the leather protective gear and helped Juimei strap on the arm and leg guards, finally checking the helmet was firmly and securely in position. The rest of the team were coming in now, and it was time for him to mount up. “Wish me luck, Neime!” “Good luck, your highness. For the glory of the king and council!” Juimei saluted, then signalled to the rest of the riders to mount and fall into line. He led them out onto the field, and the cheers of two thousand voices hit him as people recognised the colours of the local heroes. He stood in his stirrups, waving to acknowledge the accolade, then he led the players over to where the other three teams waited before the royal dais. He bowed his head as his father raised his hand to greet him. Juimei saw his mother looking too, so he lifted the little pendant from inside his shirt, kissed it, then tucked it safe away again—she smiled and nodded at the gesture. The match marshal came forward, and at the king’s nod, lifted his flag. “Players—to your quarters! Prepare for battle!” Western province got first throw, and the royal team thundered after the ito which had flown hard into the army quarter. Juimei swept it up and pitched long into their area, but a Western player was there, defending. Tetwei managed to hook it and carry the save, but lost it trying to be clever. Juimei cursed and whipped his mount in pursuit of the lost ito. They made mistakes, but they were the first to score, and then again before the Westerns gained the advantage. Merchants formed a brief alliance with the army to get the ito back over to the army quarter, and scored, but Juimei led his side through breaches in their shoddy defences, and, at the price of a few bruises and even a bite from a disgruntled beast, scored again. The crowd screamed their delight at the Royals’ success, and emboldened by their support, two of the minor players on the team, mainly used to distract, managed a nice little play of their own and hurled the ito into the basket. Juimei bellowed his approval at them as they galloped past. “Well thrown! Do it again!” “Yes, your highness!” The teams managed to stop any of the others scoring, but that was all until half-time. Juimei accepted fruit juice and a sweetmeat for the energy from Neime who had organised refreshments, but his mind was still on the game. “We need to keep Merchants and Army from allying. Godo, you did nice work out there—think you can do it again?” “I hope so, Jui,” his younger teammate said. “Right—then here’s the plan. Anytime we seen Merchants and Army teaming up, I want an attack on the Army flank—they’ve got their weakest riders on that side. Tetwei, if we have to

drive ito, that’s the direction we go in. Godo, they won’t be watching you if Tetwei or I are in play—that’s your chance to be sneaky again.” “Right you are, Jui.” Frustratingly, Army scored twice in the first few minutes of the second half, bringing the total score equal to the Royals’. Juimei wouldn’t be satisfied with a draw—he’d rather lose fighting all the way down than merely draw while wearing his mother’s favour. But he was determined to win. Keqwino got the ito, and suddenly the match went their way—two more in-throws pushed their score up. All they had to do was keep the others from scoring, but the other teams didn’t see it that way. A three-way alliance was suddenly formed, and boxing the Royals in. It took a bit of nastiness to get free, and Juimei was hit on the upper arm by a carelessly flailed stick, but they managed it, only to lose the ito clear across the field when the Merchants got it and fled. More by surprise than skill, they scored, and then the Westerns, stronger than either Merchants or Army, stole the ito back. Damn it—level pegging again, and the last but one sand timer was already running. It was time to cast what little caution they’d been exercising to the winds. “All or nothing,” Juimei said to his team as they lined up for another throw. “Lose or win, but I don’t want any bloody draws on my scoreboard. Right?” “Right!” his team bellowed back, and he grinned in a feral way. Those Westerns were getting too confident. Time to show them the real value of the blood royal. The ito flew, and Godo got it, deflecting nicely and skittering away on his lighter mount from under the grabbing stick of a huge Western. “Jui!” Godo cried, and tossed it his way. Juimei raised for it, but had to defend sharply against a sneak Army attack—Tetwei saved it, and raced off, hotly pursued by two Westerns and a Merchant. Juimei shouted for his people to deflect and defend, but that inconvenient alliance between the other teams was back in full force, and they couldn’t get an edge. The last timer was turned over. Tetwei was cornered, and in desperation threw it high. Keqwino got it, belted off towards their corner, but found himself stopped by two Army, and with nowhere legal to run. “Damn it—someone, take it!” he yelled, and threw. Juimei lunged for it, scooped it out from under the nose of a Western, wheeled and ran, praying someone was running cover for him behind, because all he wanted to concentrate on was getting near enough to that basket to throw. They came from every side, but he pushed his mount until the damn thing was almost shuddering with the effort. He couldn’t make progress, ducking and avoiding and trying to keep the ito from being knocked from his stick. He was running out of time—but he couldn’t get any closer. Finally, in desperation and with no expectation of success, he threw wildly, with all the force in his frame. The ito hit a post—then bounced into the basket. Juimei blinked—that had never happened before.

The horns sounded, and he realised they’d done it. They’d bloody won, by Sephiz! He tore off his helmet and tossed it up in the air, as did the rest of the team, while the crowd roared their delight, the pennants and flags in the royal blue and yellow being waved everywhere he looked. His teammates piled on him, hugging and crowing at their victory. “You’re a bloody miracle, your highness!” Tetwei yelled, ruffling his hair happily. “We all are. For king and council!” he cried and the crowd roared back its approval. Still muddy and heart pounding from the rush of the game, he led his somewhat disorderly team over to the dais, the losing sides trailing after them disconsolately. The marshal decreed, to more roared cheers, that the royal team had retained the prize for another year, and then Juimei’s father rose, accepting the victor’s sash from an attendant. “My son, approach me.” Juimei climbed the stairs, grinning like a fool. His father beamed too, for all his professed dislike of the game. “Well-played, your highness,” he said, as he put the sash over Juimei’s head. “Thank you, your majesty.” He rose and turned, and received the adulation of the crowd, his teammates applauding and stamping their feet in approval. The roars grew even louder as he indicated his team below. He was so proud of them, he felt like his chest was about to burst. Truly, was there a finer feeling than this in the whole world? Neime came up to attend him as he left the field, and he threw a happy arm around the lad. “Did you see? Wasn’t I magnificent?” “You were. Magnificent and modest with it.” Neime ducked before Juimei could poke him in revenge for the smart remark. “Did you get hurt? I saw the stick hit your arm.” “Probably bruised,” Juimei said cheerfully. “The steam room’s all I need. Razika! Someone bring me a damn drink!” A flask was broached and passed around the team, and there was a lot more yelling and backslapping before they got back to the stables. Neime offered to settle Juimei’s mount but he insisted on removing the tack and brushing the beast down himself—only fair since the little bastard had done so well. But he was happy enough to let Neime take his muddy gear away to clean—he wanted more razika and to celebrate a little more with his teammates before he went back to the palace. “Well-played, your highness.” He turned, and grinned in delight to see Mikinze in the doorway of the stables. “Just the man I wanted to see—I want a word with you, your grace,” he said, bounding over to him, grabbing his lover’s arm, and tugging him around the side of the building. “And a kiss for the victor too.” “Your highness, discretion, please,” Miki said, glanced around quickly, but giving him a peck on the cheek anyway. “Oh, piss on discretion. Miki, I want you to bond with me. Say you will.”

Miki laid a hand over his heart, as if profoundly shocked. “Jui? Are you serious?” “Don’t you want to?” “Of course! It’s just...I wasn’t expecting....” “I know, but I thought...I’m not getting any younger. You do want to, don’t you?” His lover smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do. And I will. But I want to tell my father first. Can you bear to wait until the winter feast to announce it?” “I can wait forever, so long as you’ll be mine,” Juimei declared, pulling Miki close and kissing him firmly, though being careful not to muddy the fine clothes his lover was wearing. “By the benevolent god, I love you, Mikinze.” “And I you, Juimei. I’ve long hoped for this day.” Juimei held up the hand with the beautiful ring. “And this was a hint, yes?” “Yes. Glad it wasn’t too subtle.” “Not too subtle, no,” he said with a laugh. “I won’t say anything to my parents until you’ve spoken to yours. But I wish you didn’t have to go back so soon.” “Ah, duty, your highness. Always duty, as you yourself are forever reminding me.” Miki stole another quick kiss but people were approaching so he stepped back. “Are you sure they’ll approve?” “Of course! You’re the man I love, what can they object to? And if they do, I’ll run away with you.” Miki smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “As your almost betrothed, your highness, I think it’s incumbent upon me to mention the fact you smell.” “As your almost betrothed, I shall courteously overlook the insult, your grace. Come to my rooms tonight? After dinner with my family?” Miki bowed. “Of course. We can’t waste the time we have. You’ve made me a very happy man.” His eyes narrowed a little as he added in a whisper, “I intend to prove how happy when we’re alone.” “Just be a little more careful of my tender arse this time, you oaf. Remember, it’s got to last you a lifetime now.” “I shall treat it with the utmost respect from now on, your highness. Until this evening?” Juimei squeezed his arm again and then Miki walked off, being claimed by his friends. Was there anything better to look forward to on one’s birthday? He almost wished he could get out of the meal with his parents, though he knew he’d enjoy it, all the more for the victory this afternoon.

But he did smell, and he needed to get back to the palace for a wash. He turned to find Neime—and saw his page standing in the shadows near the door, expression unhappy, mouth turned down. “You asked him.” “Yes, I did. Not a word to anyone until it’s formally announced. You know how these things are done.” “Yes, your highness.” Juimei came closer to the lad. “He’s really a decent fellow once you get to know him. He loves me—he only wants the best for me.” Neime’s chin tilted up. “I’m glad he loves you. I want you to be happy.” Juimei put his hand on Neime’s shoulder. “I want you to be happy too. Won’t you stay with me, at least for a while?” “If you want me to, I will. It won’t be me asking to leave. I made an oath, remember?” “I remember. I just want you and Mikinze to be polite to each other. I need all the people I love around me.” “To the end of my days, your highness. I am so sworn.” Juimei smiled and ruffled his hair. “Don’t make it sound so much like a sentence, lad. It’ll be fine. But for now, I’m muddy and disgusting and the steam room is calling to me. Come on—no long faces. It’s my birthday—I forbid it.” “Of course, your highness.” He plastered a huge and idiotic grin on his face and Juimei laughed at him. “What?” “I think I prefer the scowls. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The week until Miki’s departure flew by, however much Juimei wanted to delay it—and there was much to discuss. They agreed Miki would approach the council and apply to be a member, an appointment which was virtually assured. Juimei, in turn, would arrange to spend part of the year on Miki’s estates. Such a peripatetic existence wasn’t perfectly satisfactory, but among the nobles at court, not particularly unusual. At least his parents would have his brothers for companionship when he went southwest with his mate. Discussions only took up some of the time—the rest of it was spent in feverish lovemaking and frankly romantic dinners. Neime made himself scarce with a tact Juimei appreciated, but wished wasn’t necessary. At least the issue of Miki’s disapproval of his attitude didn’t come up again. Juimei didn’t want to spoil these few days together with petty arguments over his household, and he was sure Neime’s attitude would improve over time. Finally Miki departed, and Juimei was left to fill his time once more with his duties and his sport. The weeks that followed dragged as slowly as the days before had sped past, and Juimei found it hard to conceal his eagerness for the seasons to turn and his lover to return once more. He threw himself into doig-ito, easy to do since his team’s success in the spring was followed by yet more during the summer—the crowds now expected the home side to win, and usually they did. His parents rarely missed a match—or an opportunity to suggest there were safer ways for their youngest child to spend his leisure hours. For his own part, Juimei welcomed the physical exhaustion of the game, and the comradeship of his teammates helped ease the loneliness somewhat. He enjoyed the popularity winning brought him and his team, but he was now old enough to be cynical about it. It would only take a short run of losing games for the crowds to lose their enthusiasm. For now, he just enjoyed it for what it was, knowing that once he was bonded to Mikinze, he would most likely have to give this up—he would have to give all his energies to his mate and his duties, as was only proper. A small part of him thought he maybe wasn’t quite ready to settle down, but he only had to remember the last time he’d made love to Miki to know there could be many compensations for giving up doig-ito. The summer slowly edged its way towards autumn, and Juimei’s impatience grew. Still, there were many things to occupy him—his oldest brother and sister-in-law had their third child, a healthy girl, and his other brother’s wife announced she was pregnant for the first time. Their parents positively glowed with happiness at the news, and Juimei held his breath, expecting one of them to hint about how it was time he settled down and started a family of his own. His mother made a remark or two which left him wondering if she had guessed his secret, but nothing more

was said, thank Sephiz, and though he was much in demand at the high summer ball, the usual jockeying for his attention as a potential partner was not followed, as it sometimes had been, by artless matchmaking by his sisters-in-law. Love them both as he did, he had occasionally got a little irritated by their belief that everyone should be married with children. Children he liked fine, the idea of being married he liked fine. But he had wanted to wait for the perfect partner, and now he had found one. Children, sadly, would not be possible, but it looked like being an uncle would be a full time job, if his brothers kept up this pace. Mikinze had not mentioned children—perhaps they needed to discuss that too. But like him, Miki had siblings with offspring a-plenty. Both families had secured their dynasties quite healthily. Neither of them would feel any great pressure to procreate, at least not for that reason. Once the intention to bond was announced, all such talk would end. Love was the important factor, in all things. If Sephiz had thought it essential that he should breed, then either he or Miki would be female, simple as that. The first frosty night and the chill morning that followed, announcing the arrival of autumn, put a spring in his step and a smile on his lips. “In four weeks, he’ll be back, Neime,” he said as they ate lunch, forgetting, until he said the words, that this was not necessarily good news for his page. Neime hadn’t mentioned the upcoming betrothal even once since Miki’s departure. Juimei suspected he hope the arrangement would quietly die—not a chance of that, though. Neime only bowed his head a little. “It’ll be a time of joy for you. I’ll do all I can to help it work for you.” “Will you?” Juimei said, startled and pleased at the declaration. “Then you’ve already made me happy. This will the start of a new adventure in my life—a great partnership. Miki and I will accomplish many things together, I feel it in my water.” “I’m sure you will, your highness,” Neime said neutrally. “Come now, lad, don’t get all stiff and cold with me. This will be a great adventure for you too—travelling to new parts of Andon, new responsibilities. You could be chamberlain one of these years.” “Perhaps,” Neime said, smiling a little. “It’s not something I’ve an ambition to do. Hadn’t we better be leaving?” “Sephiz’s beard, yes, we had.” He’d let himself be distracted, but if they were going to win the match this afternoon, he had to get his mind off his lover and onto the more mundane matter of doigs and itos. This wasn’t a big event—just a friendly between the palace team and the army, a warm up for the final tournament of the season in a week’s time. More games might get played after that, depending on the weather, but at this time of year, the first snows could come at any time, and then it became too dangerous to play. Ice-ito was fun too, but it would be two months at least before the lakes

froze hard enough for that. Normally he wouldn’t be looking forward to the interval, but this year, he had more than enough to fill his thoughts. He smiled to himself as they made their way to the palace stables. Next year, he’d be playing ice-ito on the lakes on Miki’s estate—and maybe he could finally interest his mate in a sport he loved himself. Miki disliked doig-ito because of the mud and the mess, but the ice form was far cleaner and faster. Yes, Juimei had high hopes of getting his fastidious lover onto skates within a year. They encountered his mother in the courtyard, carrying a basket of baby clothes and other mysterious items. “Ah, off for another match, Jui?” Juimei bowed. “Yes, Mother. Are you coming to watch?” “Not today, dear—I’ve got a meeting with some of the council and then I’m visiting Lekwinu and the baby. She wanted some advice and some reassurance, I think. You should be finished early, I believe? Isn’t it just the single game?” “Yes—I could come to their apartments for drizu after.” “Clean up first, won’t you?” He grinned and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry—I’ll be scrubbed and presentable. Say hello to them both and tell them to get ready for uncle Jui.” “I don’t know there’s enough warning in the world for that. How are you, Neime?” Neime bowed. “Very well, your majesty. Do you mind if I come along too?” “Not at all—Lekwinu’s very fond of you, you know. More than this great oaf,” she said, chucking Juimei’s chin. “Charming. Rejected by my own kin. How can I bear it?” “With your usual grace,” she said dryly. “Well, be off with you—make sure you win.” “Yes, Mother.” “And make sure that helmet’s on tight this time.” “Yes, Mother. It was a broken strap, you know. It’s not like I tied it badly.” “Hmmm. Neime, you make sure you check the strap. Go on.” She shooed them off, and grinning, Juimei did as he was told. “It’s a new helmet anyway,” Neime said quietly. “I know, she just worries. I probably won’t need the gear any more after the end of this season.” Neime stopped. “Why?” “No time. When I’m here, I’ll have to be working on court business, and when on the estate, I’ll have to work on Miki’s.” “Oh. I never thought about that. But you love doig-ito.”

“Yes, I do. But I love Mikinze more, and I’m prepared to make that sacrifice. You could take over for me as palace champion though,” he said teasingly. “No thanks. Unlike a certain prince of the blood, I like to look after my bottom.” “Cheeky brat. Come on.” More people had come to watch than he expected, and his appearance on the field was greeted with enthusiastic cheers, which he acknowledged with a wave. This was a highly informal event, and no one stood on ceremony around him—even less than they usually did. People called his name and yelled out encouragement in fairly earthy terms—just as they did to the army players. He would miss this a great deal, he thought wistfully. This more than the big matches in a way, for being equal, part of a team where every man counted for themselves, was a precious thing if you were born in the royal line. It was only here—or in bed with Miki—that he could really set aside the fact he was a prince, born to great privilege and responsibility. He didn’t resent the fact of his birth—but it was sometimes nice to pretend he was just an ordinary man. It was very restful. It was only a two-side match, so there was a lot more ground to cover. He almost preferred two-side, because the riding was a lot faster and more furious, the ito flew higher and harder, and in his opinion, there was more skill involved, at least in manoeuvring the doigs and anticipating the flight of the ito. The army were merciless players too, and not above some damn dirty tricks —more than once, Juimei blocked a seemingly accidental strike against his animal’s rump. “Curse you, keep your stick to yourself!” he yelled at the offending groi after the second attempt, but then had to jump for it as the ito flew his way and the game pressed on. Dust rose from the much-travelled field, too late in the season to have any protective grass. The hooves of the doigs sounded like winter hail against the constant cheers and encouragement of the crowds, the smack of stick on stick, the yells from the teams crying out tactics, punctuating the noise. Back and forth, high and wide, the ito flew, and the goals mounted up, a closer game than he’d been used to of late, and everyone nursed bumps and bruises from enthusiastically—or maliciously—wielded sticks. “Your men need to learn some bloody manners,” he cursed at the army team’s leader as they jostled for position in the line up for a new throw. “You’re just too soft, your highness,” the man said with a sneer. “This is how real men play.” “Oh? I thought real men used their balls for better things—my mistake. Obviously you army types wouldn’t know about that.” “Don’t you worry, we’ve got balls to spare—” “Heads up!” the marshal called, and the ito came their way, cutting off the jiren’s banter. Juimei had to jump for it, but managed to sweep the ito away from the range of the officer, then he whipped up his mount and pounded across the field. “To me, Jui!” Tetwei yelled. “Hurry!”

The danger was behind him, he knew, so he stood to fling the ito from the catcher towards his second. He leaned forward—and was flung back as his doig jerked and then bucked ferociously. He struggled to get control, and tossed the ito ungracefully before turning to find that cursed groi behind him. “My beast bit yours—accident, I swear!” “Keep away from me, you little shit!” The marshal was looking their way, but Juimei did nothing to call his attention. It was all part of the rough and tumble—the rough was just a bit worse than usual. But he’d get that little bastard back if he could. At half-time, it was time for strategy. “I’ll kill the next man who hits me with his damn stick,” Tetwei growled, rubbing his arm, and glaring balefully over at the army team. “What’s got into them?” “Their tezrei wasn’t too happy they lost to us in the tournament last month. I think he said they’d let the reputation of the army down,” Lonizig said. “So they’re taking that out on us?” Juimei said. He coughed and spat—damn dust got into everything—then swilled out his mouth with the water Neime handed him. “I thought they had more honour than that.” “Not all of them—just that groi and that bloody jiren. He’s new,” Tetwei said. “Then I think, lads, it’s up to the palace to teach them a few manners, don’t you think?” They were only a goal ahead, and Army levelled it within minutes. Juimei was determined that was the last flight they’d make this game. At the break, they’d identified the strongest Army players, and now they put the tactics into play, boxing those riders in mercilessly, and giving them no room to throw or to defend. It made tempers worse, and sticks were now being employed without much discretion—players from both teams were sent off, and the marshal told them sternly to knock it off, before giving Army a free throw. That made Juimei grind his teeth with frustration—no way was it fair—but it was the game, and the game had to be won. Godo hooked the ito and fled with it. Juimei pounded after him to help him defend, but found himself hounded by three Army—returning the compliment, it seemed. Time and again their mounts jostled his as he fought for possession of the ito, and he was forced to watch helplessly as Tetwei fumbled it and lost it to Army again. His oppressors suddenly abandoned him to charge after their teammate, and Juimei belted after them. The man with the ito was one of their worst players, couldn’t fly an ito for a bag of seed. “Watch him—he throws badly,” he said to Godo as his teammate galloped close. “Be ready!” Godo saluted, and sure enough, the ito went wild, well out of quarter. Tetwei hooked it, flung to Godo, who tossed it immediately to Juimei. He raced off towards their goal end, but here came those bloody Army thugs again, determined to stop him getting a clear throw. Tetwei was

ready, positioned discreetly, looking as if he was defending, but ready to take Juimei’s play. Juimei kept up the pace, the riders pursuing him. “To me! Jui, to me!” Riders bore down on him fast. Tetwei was right where he needed to be, so Juimei raised his arm to throw—and was flung from his doig as a thundering mount crashed into his, the animals colliding with angry screams, sending him hard across the dirt, his unprotected hands scraping painfully. The crowd roared in dismay at the fall of the favourite, like thunder over the squeals and snorts of the panicking animals, but he was too distracted by the immediate danger, aware of flying hooves and wildly cavorting beasts too close to him. Hemmed in by the doigs, he instinctively covered his head, but a moment later something powerful and heavy hit his helmet, knocking him sideways, dazing him. “Jui!” He didn’t know who yelled. Something struck him hard in the stomach, and he curled over the pain, all the breath driven out of him, his vision whiting out. “Jui, watch out!” He never did find out what for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Squeeze again, your highness? Very good. Try your toes again? And again? Thank you.” Juimei closed his eyes and wished the bloody healer would leave him alone. Every day for two weeks she had come and every day they went through this pointless routine. She insisted that with time, there would be some improvement if he kept doing the exercises she prescribed—but nothing could disguise the fact that his left side was permanently ruined. Not quite paralysed, but as good as. All the exercises in the world wouldn’t change that. “Your highness? It’s important you keep doing this.” “Go ‘way,” he slurred. “Ti’ed.” “Say it properly. ‘Tir-ed.’ Make your mouth form the word correctly.” He glared at her, and ignored her request. To add insult to damn injury, no one did anything he asked them to do any more. It was as if his words—formed correctly or not—had no importance. He had no importance. He was just a patient to be pushed around and ordered about. Finally she sighed. “All right. Enough for today. I know this is hard, your highness, but this is the only treatment we have for your injury. I’ve seen people recover from worse, but it takes time.” “How lon’?” “A while. Maybe even years,” she admitted. “Perhaps never, not perfectly. But you won’t improve if you don’t try.” He waved his good hand at her in dismissal. She shook her head at him, pulled up the sheets and blankets, bowed, and then left. Immediately, Neime rose from his silent vigil at the thermal vent and came to his side. “Do you want anything, Juimei?” Without being asked, Neime helped him sit a little higher, and tucked the blankets around him better. He knew what Juimei wanted almost before he’d decided it himself. It was about the only good thing about his situation now. “Mi’i?” Juimei asked hopefully. “No word yet.” The lad’s face was pinched with sadness—he’d taken Juimei’s injury almost as hard as Juimei himself. “There’s been heavy snowfall in that region—it might take longer than he’d planned anyway. You should just concentrate on getting well.” “Ne’er ha’en.” He picked up his useless left hand with his right, then let it fall. “Bro’en.” “That’s not what the healer said.”

“Lies.” “I don’t think so. Her majesty wanted me to let her know when you were ready to see her again. Are you?” Juimei shook his head. She would only fuss. “Jui, you have to let her see you. You’re her son, she worries.” “No!” He thumped the covers with his good hand. “Da’ it! Leave me a’one!” Neime bit his lip, then bowed. “As you wish, your highness.” He retreated to his seat by the warmth, and stared at the tiles as if they were suddenly fascinating. Juimei felt he should apologise, but then he would apologise a hundred times a day if he was fair. He thought about calling Neime back, but what was the point? Neime would get sick of looking after him eventually—he hadn’t planned on looking after an invalid when he signed up for this post. He closed his eyes again, wishing his head would stop hurting, that his vision would clear, that he would wake up and be able to walk and talk as he had done before that stupid bloody game, just a bare month ago. He couldn’t remember a thing about it. The last thing he recalled was a meeting that morning with his father and the council—after that, it was a complete blank. He’d been told he’d fallen and been kicked in the head—twice—and had been knocked out briefly. It was only later that the healers had realised his injury was more serious, and indeed, his life had been despaired of. He couldn’t remember anything about that either—just waking up and not being able to move one side of his body hardly at all, or speak. His face, his mouth, weren’t under his control anymore. His body had utterly betrayed him, and now he was trapped in its rotting hulk for whatever was left of his miserable life. There was a knock at the door—he huddled down under the covers, determined to feign sleep. He heard Neime speaking to whoever it was, and then footsteps coming back into the room. “That was the lady Lekwinu. She was hoping you would see her. I...told her you were exhausted. She sends her best wishes.” Juimei grunted but refused to look at his page. At least Neime was following his orders—no one else was. He heard Neime come closer. “Are you going to hide forever, Jui? I know you’re tired now, and in pain, but people are worried. You should let them help you.” “Ca’t. Jus’ go ‘way. I....” His breath hitched in a sob. “No one ca’ he’p,” he whispered. “Sca’d.” Scared and ashamed of his fear, and only to Neime could he reveal this weakness. He felt Neime take his bad hand. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too, because I thought you were going to die. They said you might—I prayed so hard. And Sephiz answered my prayer. If he did that, I believe he’ll answer this one too—that you will recover, learn to walk again, learn to speak properly again. But I think you need to give it more time, and more effort.”

He turned to glare angrily at his friend. “You thin’ I wa’ to be li’ this? You thi’ I’ no’ try’ng?” “Yes, you’re trying. But you need to keep trying. Please, Jui. Don’t give up. Please.” To Juimei’s shock, he saw tears in Neime’s eyes. He reached out with his good hand to touch the lad’s cheek. “So’y. Jus’...ti’ed.” “I know. Would you like a massage? The healer said that was good for you.” He didn’t much want one, but Neime was so desperate to help, and wanted so much to see some improvement—any improvement—that Juimei didn’t have the heart to refuse. He nodded, and Neime smiled in relief. “Let me warm the oil and open the vent a bit more. We can’t have you getting cold.” Juimei caught his arm. “Don’. You’ wear you’sel’ out. “ “It’s my job. I’m sure it’s harder for you than it will ever be for me.” Juimei released him, and Neime went to fetch the oil. Juimei was rather humbled at the kindness being shown to him by someone he had been contemplating setting aside for the sake of his lover, however gently he’d planned to do it. He might have expected consideration and care, yes—but this devotion went beyond what might be expected of a servant, even a page. He resolved to try and keep his temper in check, at least where Neime was concerned, even if only for selfish reasons. Driving him away would mean he would have to get used to someone new, and right now, the last thing he wanted was a stranger touching him and being disgusted by his weakness. The apartments had grown dark and Neime lit candles. It was very quiet now—Juimei gathered that people had been told to keep their voices down near his rooms, and to otherwise not disturb his rest—so the careful massage was carried out in an almost sacred hush. Neime didn’t speak as his hands worked his magic on Juimei’s body, the warm scent of lightly spiced oil pleasant in the room. It was nice, relaxing, and for a few moments, he could even forget why it was being done. With his body limp anyway, he couldn’t immediately tell that one side was unresponsive for more reason than the massage—he tried to concentrate on the feel of Neime’s strong fingers, and let the soothing sensation flood through him, pushing away the persistent ache from the concussion. He drifted off to sleep, and in his half-awake state, he dreamed that he was whole and well again, and this was just a temporary illness, to be recovered from like any other. A knock at the door woke him, and he was confused for some moments as to where he was and why he couldn’t seem to move. The room was dark again, but already a candle was lit—a blurry glow moved towards the door, and he heard Neime speaking. Moments later, another voice. “Jui! By the benevolent god, you’re alive!” Juimei’s heart lurched, and he struggled to sit, Neime coming to his side immediately to help. “Mi’i,” he sighed, reaching out with his good hand. Neime stepped back, and he must have lit more candles for the room grew brighter.

Miki grasped his hand and sat on the bed, bending to kiss him. “Oh, my love, are you still hurt? Tell me—you’re worrying me.” Juimei swallowed, and forced himself to speak as slowly and carefully as he could. “I ca’ mo-ove my lef’ side.” Miki’s eyes widened. “You’re paralysed?” “Your grace, it’s not full paralysis—a severe weakness. It may improve with time.” Miki didn’t even glance at Neime. “So, a temporary injury. Thank Sephiz—they told me you nearly died.” He nuzzled Juimei’s hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. How long will it be before you recover, did they say?” Juimei glanced at Neime, who cleared his throat. “Your grace, the healer says it could take some time. Even as long as several years.” Or ever, Juimei amended silently, though he was grateful Neime had decided to omit that detail. “Years! I had no idea....” But then he squeezed Juimei’s hand. “Then I shall just have to look after you until you’re well again,” he said, smiling. Juimei sagged with relief. “Tha’ you.” Still holding Juimei’s hand, and without turning around, Miki announced, “That will be all, Neime. His highness and I need some privacy.” Juimei blinked a little, and Neime stiffened. “Are you sure, your grace? His highness—” “Will be well cared for this evening. I’m sure he’s grateful for your devotion, but he and I require some privacy.” “As you wish, your grace. Your highness?” “Tha’ you, Nei’.” Neime bowed, though he scowled briefly at Miki who ignored him. He sent a worried look over his shoulder as he left the room. Juimei felt absurdly sorry to see him leave, but Miki was right—they had things to discuss, even in his wretched condition. “You look as if you have a headache.” “Co’cussion.” “Of course. I presume your speech will improve with time too?” Juimei shrugged. “Ho’ so.” “So do I—it will be difficult to announce a betrothal otherwise.” He smiled, but Juimei was suddenly a little uncertain exactly what he meant by that. He wasn’t up to asking, and he certainly didn’t want to speak more than he had to, since his lover minded it so much. He could hardly blame Miki for not liking to see his future bond mate so helpless and voiceless. Sephiz’s beard, it felt good to have Miki hold him again, though it was frustrating to have to lie in bed and only be able to respond in such a limited way. He felt so pathetically useless, and

was sure he must look dreadful. Miki didn’t seem to mind though, stroking his hair and telling him of when he had got the news, a rider meeting him on the road, and how worried he’d been. “I want another opinion on your treatment—we should have the finest minds from the academy. Even write to the Darshianese, if we need to.” “She’ goo’,” Juimei slurred. The healer, Keraminze, was his mother’s own personal healer and was highly trained. “I don’t care—we need as many opinions as possible. I want you to be able to dance with me at our betrothal feast.” Juimei stared at him helplessly. What if that could never be? “I’ try,” he whispered. “Good. I’ll speak to his majesty when I ask for a place on the council—it’s the ideal time with Darnwei retiring.” His head throbbing, Juimei didn’t much want to talk about the council, but he smiled and let Miki explain his political ambitions, and his plans for them both. Perhaps Miki was right—this was only a temporary thing, and they had to plan for their future together. Just because he was laid up, didn’t mean the world stopped turning. He didn’t really need Miki to take over his medical arrangements but was touched at the concern. This was what mates did, of course. Miki was only being a proper spouse-to-be, more proof of the excellence of Juimei’s choice. He wished he had more energy though, and his headache and weariness could not, finally, be ignored. “Ah, and I’ve been selfish,” Miki said ruefully, kissing his forehead. “You should rest. I’ll return tomorrow and we’ll get started on putting you on the road to recovery. Really, I’m not impressed by what I’ve seen so far—you deserve better. Good night, my love.” Miki kissed him again, and Juimei smiled as brightly as he could, but inside, his heart sank. If his lover wasn’t impressed, then it had to be him Miki was disappointed with. He would have to try much harder to overcome this blasted weakness—no matter how tired and angry he got. He realised he was helpless with Mikinze gone. “He’p? Nei’?” He tried to get up, but the covers were as effective as chains weighting him down. He almost started to panic before he heard the door open again, and Neime came in, holding a tray. “Oh, he left you alone? I’m sorry, I just went to get your supper.” Juimei slumped back, ashamed. “He thin’s I’ll ge’ be’er. Soo’.” “Yes, I know. So you’d better get better, right?” He tried to smile, but Neime’s encouraging expression didn’t reach his eyes, and Juimei knew as well as his page did, that it might not be possible to recover from this as fast as Miki wanted—or at all. And if he didn’t—where did that leave him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 4 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Things got rather busier after that, starting the very next morning. Miki ordered a whole team of healers in from the academy to examine him, and Keraminze was replaced by not one but three physicians, who were ordered to do nothing but attend to Juimei’s needs and see to his rehabilitation. A strict regime of exercise and diet was put in place, and Miki said he would come by three times a day to check on Juimei’s progress and receive the report of the healers himself. Eager to please his lover, and with Miki’s energy giving him hope that perhaps he could beat this, Juimei allowed him to do whatever he wanted, though Neime scowled the entire morning. His page wasn’t the only person put out—Juimei’s mother came to eat lunch with him, and expressed, in the politest way, that she thought dismissing her own healer might not have been necessary. “He jus’ wan’ to he’p,” Juimei explained. “Yes, I understand that.” She sighed. “Well, perhaps he’s right—Keraminze said she was planning more vigorous treatment once you were over the concussion, so this is likely not to be a bad thing. He’s a very devoted friend to you, I must say.” Juimei concentrated on spooning soup into his mouth without spilling it, and avoided her eyes. “Is there something I should know about your arrangement with him?” Juimei stared down at his bowl. It was the perfect time to tell her about the betrothal—but he didn’t feel he should do that without speaking to Miki first. “No,” he muttered, feeling Neime’s eyes upon him. “Ah, well. So long as you’re content, dear, and the treatment helps, I won’t interfere. You know your father and I will do anything we can to get you well. We both expect to see you at the mid-winter feast.” Juimei scowled. His father had had the best carpenters in the palace construct an elegant and comfortable chair with wheels for him to use but so far, Juimei had steadfastly refused to sit in it. “Whe’ I ca’ stan’.” The feast was three months away, held on the shortest night of the year. It was possible he would even walk by then, if he pushed himself to the limit. “Of course. Though it would be a shame to deprive people of your company just because of your accident, dear. No one would think any less of you.” “I wou’.” She tsked. “Such a stubborn child, you always were.” She bent over and kissed him. “I’ll come back tomorrow. You look tired, Jui. You mustn’t overdo things.”

Neime carefully didn’t say anything—Juimei knew his views on the subject. “I wan’ to wa’k. I ha’ work to do.” “Yes, of course.” Neime bowed as she stood. To Juimei’s surprise, she chucked his page under the chin. “He’s a lucky man to have you too, dear. His majesty and I are very grateful.” “Thank you, your majesty. I consider it an honour to serve.” “You are such a good lad. Tomorrow, Jui.” Juimei pushed the bowl away as she left the room. “Sto’ sco’ling,” he said to Neime. “What do you expect me to do, Jui? He just marches in and takes over, when we’ve been working so hard for you for weeks—he acts as if none of us have any idea what will help you.” “He wan’s to he’p. He lo’s me.” “But he’s not the only one who loves you.” Neime frowned. “You can’t blame me for worrying.” “I don’. Jus’ wan’ to ge’ be’er.” Neime took his hand and smiled at him sadly. “It’s what we all want. Very well—if this is what you want to do, then I’ll do my best.” Juimei smiled crookedly. “Tha’ you. Can’ do wi’out you, Nei’.” Surely with the support of a good friend as well as his lover, he could overcome this. The weeks that followed were punishingly hard. Every day his apartment was invaded by healers, masseurs, or one of two actors from the theatre that Mikenze had hired to put him through long and rather tedious vocal exercises. His inability to speak clearly troubled his lover most of all, so Juimei was willing to put any amount of work into improving his slurred, weak speech, afraid of driving Mikenze away through disgust. He was desperate to reward his lover’s efforts on his behalf by showing him progress, and every advance, however small, was carefully demonstrated to him on his daily visits. The healers had quickly insisted on reducing the number of those visits from three to one to give Juimei time to rest, and he felt this was also for Mikinze’s benefit, since he detected some impatience with the business of illness and sick rooms. Hardly surprising, when Miki had hardly ever had a day’s sickness in his life, and was still vigorously engaged in the real world, while Juimei lived a life of isolation and tedium, shut away in his apartments. He hadn’t left them once since the accident—but he was determined to do so for the winter feast. He would stand at his lover’s side and announce their betrothal in his own voice. It gave him something real to aim for. Neime worked as hard as he did, and without complaint, at least on his own behalf, though he protested Juimei was working too hard on those frequent occasions when he fell asleep over his supper from pure exhaustion. “S’no diff’rent from trai’ing. Train-ing,” Juimei said as Neime scolded him for overdoing it. “People don’t train with injuries like this, Jui. You’ve got to allow yourself energy to heal.”

“No time.” The feast was at that point, just a month and a half away. His speech was better— but he was no closer to walking unaided. He pushed his food away—his appetite had not really recovered since the accident, and he found eating a chore at the best of times. When he was tired, he honestly thought the effort of shoving the stuff into his mouth for the sake of the fuel, was more trouble than it was worth. “He’p me stan’.” “No, you’re tired. Tomorrow.” “Now. P’ease.” Neime sighed. “All right—but not for long, and then a wash and bed.” Neime thought this was pointless—standing without walking wasn’t achieving much—but it made Juimei feel normal, to see the world from his proper height, to look Neime in the eye and not upwards like a child. He was heavy, so it was hard for Neime, but his page never complained about lifting him. They’d been doing this for a couple of weeks now, just him and Neime, since the healers were of the opinion it was too soon for him to attempt it. Juimei believed they were wrong, and was determined to prove it. Neime pulled him up—Juimei gripped the bedpost tight. “Careful—don’t let go of me yet.” Neime waited until he was completely balanced. “All right—moving away now....” There was always this moment of terror once Neime relaxed his grip, and then elation as he found he was still upright. It was probably pointless—his good leg was doing most of the work, and any fool could stand on one leg—but he was still upright, on his own. He grinned at Neime, who smiled tightly back, even though he still tried to look disapproving and was clearly worried. “Tom’ow, I dance.” “Huh, not yet, your highness. Now—” He turned at the sound of a knock on the door. “Ge’ it.” “Let me—” Juimei shook his head. “Ge’ it.” Neime pursed his lips in annoyance, but did as he was told. Juimei locked his knees and concentrated on not falling. It was Miki, who did a beautiful double-take to see him standing. “Juimei!” Juimei grinned at his honest astonishment. “By Sephiz! You’re cured?” “No. But I’m be’er. Bet-ter.” “Can you walk? Show me!” Desperate to please, he tried to take a step, and actually succeeded—but the second one sent him falling, saved only by Neime’s strong arms and then Miki’s. “Be careful, your highness,” Neime scolded. “You’re not there yet.”

Mortified, Juimei had to let them help him into a chair. To his surprise, Miki gave Neime a cold look. “He won’t learn to walk if you continue to hinder him, Neime. This was what I was coming to speak to you about. Is his highness aware that you’re sabotaging his medical treatment behind his back?” “Nei’e?” Juimei said, looking at them both in astonishment. Neime was just as confused. “Your grace? What are you talking about?” “You, boy. Healer Canzeigu complained to me about your attitude and what you said to him. You have no business contradicting a physician. You’re only a servant, not a healer.” “I just asked him to take things a little easier, because his highness—” “And what business is that of yours?” Mikinze thundered. “Are you qualified in any way to tell a healer what to do?” “Your grace—” “Mi’i.” Juimei thumped the arm of his chair with his good hand. “Lea’ hi’ a’one. Alone.” “Why? When I’ve discovered the reason for your slow progress? I intend to ask his majesty to have this disloyal creature removed from your service. No wonder you’re not advancing.” “I am!” Neime was backing away. “You’re wron’. You ca’t re’ove him.” “I can and I shall. As your fiancé, I have the right to insist on your proper care.” Juimei drew himself up. “No’ my fi’nce yet, Mi’i. You go too fa’.” “Indeed? Perhaps it’s as well our betrothal has not been formalised. I thought you were prepared to work at this, your highness. Do you think I can bring a cripple home to my father’s estate? Do you think you’ll make a suitable mate, when you can’t conduct council business because of your speech impediment, and you can’t even walk the corridors of your own palace? Are you asking me to tie myself to someone like that?” “No,” Juimei said coldly, holding himself as straight as he could. “I’m no’. Ask’g.” “Then I’m not accepting. Not until you can walk to that door, and speak my name correctly. If you prefer the company of your servants to that of your peers, your highness, then that’s your choice. Good night.” “Wai’!” Juimei yelled, knowing if Miki walked out the door, he might never return. “P’ease. Mi’i. I’m so’y.” Neime moved away discreetly as Miki turned. “So am I.” He came back and knelt before Juimei’s chair. “I’m sorry, my love. I only want the best for you, and I get so impatient, so worried.... Forgive me.” Juimei stroked his cheek, making sure to use the hand that bore Miki’s ring. “I wi’ wa’k.” Damn it, if this was earlier in the day, his voice would be so much stronger. “A mon’h. Gi’ me a mon’h.” “As long as you need.” He looked up. “You mean to attend the feast after all?”

“Yes. An’ an’ouce our betro’l.” “So be it.” He kissed Juimei’s hand. “I’ll try to contain my impatience.” “I lo’ you.” Miki rested his head on Juimei’s knee and Juimei patted his head, relieved beyond words that he’d been able to rein in this quarrel before it became fatal. Miki had a temper—they both did. His heart had died a little to hear such harsh words from his lover’s lips, and if it had been anyone else, he would have never forgiven them. But Miki was also right that Juimei wasn’t exactly a prize right now. He had to work harder to be a suitable mate—it wasn’t fair to tie Mikinze down to a cripple when that wasn’t what he’d agreed to. So the intense regime continued. The greatest improvement was in his speech—if he was well-rested, took his time and stayed calm, he could sound almost normal. He could stand and sit pretty well now without assistance, and had taken a couple of shuffling steps, but real walking seemed as far away as ever, which depressed him. He even thought he couldn’t face going to the feast because he was unable to walk there, but his mother dismissed that concern. “Just go in a litter. Councillor Feinorei broke his leg—you won’t be the only one who can’t walk, dear. You’re making too much of this, you know. It’s not something you need to be ashamed of.” He supposed she was right—Keraminze, who had been brought back to advise on his treatment after Juimei had dismissed healer Canzeigu, had been very pleased with his progress, and cautiously optimistic on her prognosis, but she said he was still looking at a very long recovery, which would almost certainly not be as complete as he might want. “But you’re doing very well, your highness,” she said. “Truly, your determination and willpower have wrought a miracle.” Not enough of a miracle, he feared, but to Miki, he presented a cheerful face as much as he could. Neime was the only one who knew his frequent despair and frustration, and who bore the brunt of occasional tantrums. Neime was the only one he could trust not to reject him on account of them. He had never felt so vulnerable in all his life, and wondered if Sephiz had done this to him to teach a lesson in humility. He was certainly getting one. Finally the deadline to which he’d been working so fiercely hard, arrived. He prepared himself with great attention to detail on the day of the feast—two hours of vocal exercises, a massage to help him relax, then a long nap, so he’d be at his best that evening. When he woke, he ate a light meal, and then Neime washed him carefully, shaving him and brushing his hair until it was sleek and glossy. He looked, he had to admit it, very fine in his new russet jacket, and the gold chain that had been a gift from Lekwinu on his birthday. Of course, Miki’s ring was where it had been throughout, soon to be joined by a mate’s band. He had been practicing his announcement for days, weeding out all the words over which he was most likely to stumble, and forcing his disobedient mouth and tongue to work to their limits in his quest to sound as he used to. Neime had assured him that he was succeeding. He could only pray to Sephiz that Miki would think the same.

At last, Neime was done. “Well?” he asked his page. “You look very handsome, Jui. More handsome than you usually do.” He smiled, relieved. “Flat-terer.” “It’s true. His grace should be here soon—shall I have the attendants bring the litter chair?” “No.” He still hated the idea of it, and wanted to put the moment off as long as possible. At least he should be able to stand long enough to get into the thing. Being carried like a child would be far too humiliating. “You get ready.” Neime’s preparations were far less tiresome, but he was still straightening his shirtsleeves when there was a knock at the door, rather earlier than they were expecting. Juimei sat up, trying to look as normal as he could. It was no longer as much of an effort to control his mouth as it had been—he had been horribly afraid he would start to drool if he lost concentration, but he now had fair use of his facial muscles. To his surprise, Neime led not Miki but his mother into the room. She was in new robes too, but then she had an entire household of people to make such things if she wished. She had very high standards. “Juimei, dear, you look very fine.” “Thank you,” he said accepting a kiss on the cheek. “Why are you here?” Solemn-faced, she sat, then took his hand. “There’s something I thought I ought to tell you about before the feast. I wasn’t sure if you knew about this already, but your father had a meeting with count Mikinze this afternoon. He wanted an announcement made about a betrothal.” “He did?” Juimei grinned. Miki was trying to upstage him? The little bastard. “Oh—so you know about it? I wasn’t sure.” She seemed relieved for some reason, which confused Juimei somewhat. “Your father said it took him quite by surprise.” “We were...going to tell you.” “You? Why would you tell us? Surely that would be the lady’s chore—or her parents’, I suppose.” “L...lady?” Juimei blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Neime came silently to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “What lady?” “Mikinze’s betrothed. Count Asinke’s sister—lady Wilonsui. I thought you knew about this.” She frowned. “Jui—you said there was nothing between you and Mikinze—” “There isn’t,” Juimei said coldly, his heart a stone in his chest. He struggled a little to remove Miki’s ring from his weaker hand, then gave it to Neime. “Take that and drop it in the mi’en. Midden. Now.” “Yes, your highness.” Neime slipped away with hesitation, and Juimei heard the door close. That left him staring at the wall, not meeting his mother’s puzzled look. “Mother, I...am unwell. I will...not...attend.”

“Jui? Was there some understanding after all between you and the count? Your father could speak to him.” He raised his hand. “No. No un’erstanding. A mis-take. Mother, le-leave me a-lone. P’ease.” “Son, I’m sorry—by the benevolent god—” “The be’volent god has d-deserted me. Lea’ me. P’ease. Please.” He turned anguished eyes upon her. “Please go.” “But Neime...?” He stared at her silently until she shook her head and stood. “Son, I’m so sorry to have been the one to break this to you. Please don’t let it wear you down.” He didn’t answer, so she kissed his cheek and caressed it. “I’ll call in after the feast.” “Please do...not.” “As you wish. But I shall visit tomorrow.” He stayed stonily silent and she was forced to give up, finally leaving him alone. He felt so cold, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He didn’t know where to start to think about Miki’s actions, so he didn’t. He thought of nothing at all until, at last, Neime returned. His page lit some more candles, then came and knelt by his chair. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, laying his head on Juimei’s knee. “Me too. It’s over. All over.” Sephiz had already granted him the miracle of allowing him to live. He obviously didn’t deserve better than that. “All over,” he whispered. And so it surely was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One good thing about having Prijian friends, Wepizi thought fondly, was that they were easy to spot. Although the fact that his Prijian friend was waving madly from the deck of his ship, as were the other Darshianese, would probably have given a hint to a far duller mind than his. In minutes, the gangplanks were down and Karik and Romi rushed onto the docks, Karik’s golden hair a bright point of colour on an overcast day. Wepizi was familiar with their enthusiasm by now, and he grinned to see them. “Careful, my friends, you’ll trip and break an ankle, and then you’ll have to turn around and go back home.” “Not a chance,” Romi said, bowing, and then abandoning formality for a hug. “How are you, Wepizi?” “Very well—as you seem to be. Welcome back to Andon, Karik,” he said, embracing his friend enthusiastically, and then nodding to the rest of his team. “By Sephiz, you all look fit and well. It does my heart good to see you.” “It’d do my heart a lot more good to have some drizu and something to eat, Wepizi,” Karik said with a shiver—for all that spring had begun, Wepizi knew it must still feel very cold to the southerners. “Shall we?” Wepizi only had to give orders to his people about the Darshianese stores and baggage, then his friends shouldered their packs for the walk back to the barracks. “So tell me all your news. Karik, how are your brothers, and your daughters?” “All doing well—you really have to come to Darshek soon and meet them all.” Wepizi smiled. “I’d love to meet them, and I shall—but I have some news of my own to impart that might affect that plan.” That got them both very curious, but he insisted on saying nothing more about it until they were at the barracks and settled in. Instead, he wanted to hear about Karik’s family, and his and Romi’s visit to Kuprij and southern Darshian—both had gone very well, and Romi introduced Wepizi to two members of their team who had been recruited from the south. They managed to get a solid liaison set up there, Romi said, while the mission this year would further strengthen the Andonese side of things. Wepizi wished he was going with them, but he had received new orders. Over drizu and soup in his private quarters, he told them what he was doing. “The king and council want to strengthen the defence and army response in the eastern regions, so I’ve been ordered to take a team to Dizeindo in the Huoinevol district and set up new

barracks there, enlarging the existing establishment, and creating a permanent outstation for the region. In a year or two, you can use it as a staging post—and for training too.” Karik frowned. “So you’re leaving Tsikiugui permanently? And you won’t be going on research missions? Wepizi, you’re important for our plans.” “You flatter me, my friend, but this is important too—and aids your plans, albeit indirectly. As for ‘permanently’—well, there’s no such thing in the army, as Romi will tell you.” “It’s all right, Karik,” Romi said. “Wepizi’s only been based in Tsikiugui for the last seven years. Officers of his rank move around a lot because the country needs their experience. You won’t be sorry to leave here, I imagine?” He shared a private, sad look with his friend. “Except that it means seeing you less often. But other than that, no, my friend, you’re correct. I’ve been rather restless after our mission together, and I could do with this challenge. Huoinevol district covers some interesting territory, and the soldiers I’ve encountered from there, have struck me as being good people. So no long faces, Karik—I’ll be here until your team leaves, and I’d be surprised if I didn’t see you again within a year or two. The Tuqul range and Mount Karvelino would bear close examination, I feel.” Karik brightened and turned to his lover. “He’s right, you know. It’s not well explored, and so far the mountainous plants have been by far the most fascinating. If we could set up a decent base there, we could really explore that area very carefully.” “So, you see, it’s not bad news after all,” Wepizi said cheerfully. “Now, what news of my friends Jou and Netu? And Sibu? What of her?” Romi’s team was due to spend a week in Tsikiugui, training and preparing, before they were to head west for four months. Wepizi would leave a few days after they did—he had to wait for soldiers travelling from Visiqe moving east with him. The idea of exploring the Huoinevol region took a strong hold in Karik’s mind and over the week they had together, in the evenings after they had all finished their separate tasks, he questioned Wepizi closely about what might be achieved, and what kind of establishment Wepizi was planning to set up. “A lot will depend on the governor, won’t it,” Romi said. “Is he interested in science and research?” Wepizi took a sip of drizu before answering, thinking about the matter. “My tezrei met Prince Juimei several years ago and says he’s an intelligent, open-minded man. More than that, I don’t know.” “A prince? Isn’t that unusual?” “Yes, though not unprecedented. He’s the youngest son of the king. Count Fiezenai who was the governor before, had no natural successor lined up, and his majesty appointed Prince Juimei to take over the district from him when his grace wanted to retire. I’ve never met him, but I’ve no reason to think he would be incompetent. Just because he’s royalty, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be interested in your work, Karik. I’m sure you could convince him of the merits even if he wasn’t.”

“I don’t know why I would have to convince anyone of the merits of finding new medicines,” Karik said, somewhat tartly. Romi just grinned, and Wepizi hid his own smile behind his hand as he stroked his moustache. “Well, I expect you to put a good word in, and start a proper recording regime. Once you’re set up, I’ll get Kei to send you basic texts and papers, personnel even, if you need it. He said he would gladly do that anywhere in Andon.” Wepizi gave a little bow of thanks. “Then your uncle will have my gratitude, and I will indeed contact him. We are starting with a blank canvas there—we should be able to set up a base which suits your needs perfectly.” It was so good to have his friends with him again, though it was always slightly bittersweet to see Romi. Romi understood though, and his company was much more pleasure than pain. Karik, sensitive man that he was, made sure Wepizi had time to talk to Romi on his own, which was much appreciated. Lema would have been happy to see their friend with a mate so well suited to him. Ah, my love, how you would like Karik, he thought as he watched Karik and Romi having an animated discussion with their team and some of Wepizi’s soldiers. There was always a lot of laughter at such times—the Darshianese had made such good friends in Andon, and were such good friends themselves. Their time together went all too quickly. On their last evening, Wepizi felt sadness descend upon him, as it often did at night, so he excused himself and went out to the verandah to sit under the stars and think. He wasn’t sorry to leave Tsikiugui, but it had been a place of happiness as well as great sorrow. Lema wasn’t buried here—he had taken her body back to her tribe who lived a hundred miles west along the coast—but it was still where she’d died, where they’d spent three happy years together in their new home after Wepizi had made lep. The thought that leaving here meant closing off that chapter, as well as making it harder to keep in touch with his friends, made him melancholy, though he knew there would be compensations in his new post. “Wepizi, even for you, surely it’s too cold to be sitting outside at night.” He smiled up at Romi who was shaking his head at his stupidity. “Nonsense, my friend—it’s good and bracing. Strengthens the lungs and the body.” “That’s not what Karik says it does.” He came and sat down beside him on the edge of the verandah. “Though it’s a beautiful evening.” “It is. Perfect for your mission. At least we’ve got decent beasts for you this time. My tezrei has finally been forced to admit that importing the animals from Darshian was a good idea.” “You can tell him that we might be importing doigs in a few years—Karik’s Pa is doing good things with that pair we brought back for him last year. At least they’re not dead yet.” “They’re Andonese, they adapt,” Wepizi said with a slight smile. “Your life seems so content and full. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so pleased for you. You really enjoy being a father?”

“Honorary Pa, you mean. But yes.” Romi’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Karik’s girls are great, and his brothers are such wonderful little boys. They’ve turned Karik’s uncles’ lives upside down and they don’t mind a bit.” “Children can be a blessing, certainly. We never knew why Lema couldn’t conceive, whether it was her or me. We always prayed Sephiz might relent and allow it, but in his wisdom, he did not.” Romi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but said nothing. Wepizi was rather ashamed of his self-pity, but at the same time, it was good to be able to say her name and talk about her to someone who had actually known her. It kept her memory green in his mind and in the minds of those who’d met her—that was all that was left to him now. He cleared his throat. “Once the new establishment is bedded in, I plan to apply for long service leave. I’m more than due it—and I can then come to Darshek. I want to see what you’re doing there.” “You’d be very welcome, Wepizi—you might just find no one’ll let you leave.” Wepizi smiled at the compliment. “But will they let a tezrei take long leave so soon after setting up a new barracks? You are getting a promotion, aren’t you?” “I have no secrets,” Wepizi said mournfully. “Yes, the post comes with a promotion. Though I’ll still be a lep in rank, and I will be doing much the same as I do now, only more of it.” “I bet,” Romi said dryly. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could have drunk to it, or something. Promotion to tezrei—that’s a big thing.” “Well, yes, but it’s only because the size of the post demands it. It’s just an administrative matter.” Romi punched his shoulder gently. “False modesty doesn’t suit you. Congratulations. You deserve it.” “Thank you, my friend. I expect to congratulate you before long too.” “Me? The next rank is colonel. Not much room in Darshek for another one. I was lucky to make captain when I did—and that was only an administrative matter too.” “Yes, of course. We’re both unworthy,” Wepizi said with a straight face. Romi punched him again, then left his hand on his shoulder. “You must come to Darshek. By then Jou and Netu will be based with us, and they’ll be wild to see you again.” “If Sephiz wills it, then they shall. I’m so glad I was here to see you this year. It does my heart good.” Romi stared out over the moonlit yard. “Maybe...getting away from here, meeting new people...might give you another chance for love. I know you say you aren’t looking...but I wasn’t looking and love fell into my lap anyway. It can happen.” “Certainly it can, and you’ve caught yourself a magnificent mate. But I had my own magnificent mate, and she died. It would be very hard to find her equal, and I won’t sully her memory by having a lover for a lover’s sake.”

“No one would want that for you.” He squeezed Wepizi’s shoulder. “But after what happened to me, I’d say never say never again, because the gods love a good practical joke as much as anyone, or so Arman says.” “The Prijian gods need things to occupy their time since they don’t care for their people as carefully as Sephiz does.” Romi arched an eyebrow at him and grinned. “Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet some of our Prijian friends so you can go in for competitive theology with them.” “We would win,” Wepizi said simply, but then grinned back at his friend. Life was too short to get worked up about heathen gods. “Shall we go back in?” “Are you feeling better?” Ah, so Romi had noticed. “Yes. Always better for your company, my friend. Come on, a last mug of drizu and then we both need a good night’s rest. We both have great things ahead of us.”

~~~~~~~~ They reached Dizeindo little over a month later, with the spring well underway, and the sun now truly warm—warm enough even for those hot-blooded Darshianese, Wepizi thought, as he’d wondered how his friends were getting on. For the last three days, the caravan of mounted soldiers and carts had travelled along wellworn roads through fertile, spring-green farmland. They’d had Dizeindo in their sights for a few miles, squatting low in the foothills of the Tuqul range and Mount Karvelino. Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, while the wide river snaked across the landscape between dense forests and wide plains. Dizeindo marked the end of its navigable length, at least for larger barges and sailing ships, and so it was an important trading post and dock. Tall sails of the many barges that plied the river had been visible all day as they’d got closer to the town. He had sent advance riders ahead the day before to announce their arrival to the barracks, so he wasn’t surprised two jirens and a smartly turned-out squad met his party a mile or so outside the town. He was saluted and returned it, confirming his identity. “Greetings, tezrei,” the senior of the two jirens said, after introducing himself. “Lep Tovoi sends his compliments, and asked us to show you the way.” “Thank you, jiren. Has his highness been told of my arrival?” “Yes, sir. Lep Tovoi will tell you more about the arrangements for you to meet him.” It might have been more polite to have gone straight to the governor’s house and pay his respects, but Wepizi was new here and the local customs were as yet unknown to him. He decided to be guided by the lep’s suggestion, giving the order for his people to fall in behind the welcome party.

The town’s walls rose sharp and high against the backdrop of mountains and farmland— made of earth banks and local hardwood, dark, imposing, solidly protective in the eastern style. He noted approvingly the walls were well guarded, sentries walking along the ramparts, guard towers not just at the corners but at intervals between. The walls enclosed the homes and many of the businesses of the three thousand residents. Mills and engineering works on the river side were dockside, for easy access to the water—he heard the creaking of the great wheels as they turned under the river’s force. He couldn’t see, but guessed that there was a heavier guard on that side— the river was a strength and a vulnerability, but without it, the town would not exist. They entered through the southern gate, admitted under the watchful eye of the soldiers of his new command. The barracks were close by the gate, pressed hard against the walls, hemmed in close by civilian homes, businesses and warehouses. Immediately Wepizi saw why expanding would be such a problem. Quadrupling this establishment would simply not be possible within the current boundaries—nor within the current town walls. It would be a major engineering task to increase both walls and barracks—but he already knew that. He had been given a big job to do, and was eager to get on with it. He’d brought three hundred soldiers with him, and their arrival, even with warning, would put the town barracks under strain. However, Lep Tovoi was all smiles as he came out to bow and greet them. “Welcome, tezrei—welcome, everyone, to Dizeindo.” “Thank you, lep. I take it you have everything in hand as to where we’re putting everyone.” “Certainly.” Tovoi whistled up his junior officers and got them sorting it all out. Wepizi was invited to come along to his new—if rather small and shabby—office, which he would have to share for a while with the lep. He didn’t mind that. Tovoi seemed a pleasant man—only two years in post here and young to be a lep, though it was often the way in the distant postings that people advanced much more quickly. Wepizi was slightly concerned the man might resent him, since Tovoi had been considered for the promotion too—but as Tovoi had less experience, Wepizi had been appointed instead. He detected no sign of hostility, thank the benevolent god. He was politely offered drizu and hard biscuits to tide him over until supper, and invited to take the lep’s own desk for now. He was glad to sit—they had been riding for so long without a single day’s break, and it was catching up with him at last. Tovoi sat down in front of the desk and folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s very good to have you here, tezrei—everyone’s excited about this expansion. It will make this town a major centre in the east.” Wepizi took a sip of the drizu, almost sighing with pleasure—trail tea got rather dull after a while, and this was excellent stuff. The main ingredients for drizu came from this region, after all. “So his majesty wishes it. I’d like you to arrange a meeting with the engineers and architects tomorrow, and any civic officials who need to be there. I should speak to his highness first—I presume he will want to be at this meeting too.”

But the lep shook his head as he picked up his own mug. “I doubt it. His highness has little interest in military affairs—little interest in anything, so I understand it. To be frank, sir—he’s a bit of a bastard to work with. He’s uncooperative, rude, and unfriendly.” He grinned ruefully. “Dealing with him isn’t my idea of fun.” “That’s odd.” Wepizi leaned forward, frowning as he recalled the conversation he’d had in Tsikiugui. “My old tezrei spoke most fulsomely of him, praised his manners and his understanding.” Tovoi shrugged. “Well, his understanding might be sharp enough, but he seems to have lost his manners somewhere along the way. When his majesty appointed a prince of the blood to the governorship, the town was honoured at the recognition, but now, I think you’ll find most people wish Count Fiezenai was still with us. I know I do.” “He interferes?” “No—just the opposite. He does the bare minimum, doesn’t observe any of the ordinary courtesies. There hasn’t been a governor’s winter feast here in four years, and when he’s prised out of his house, he won’t talk to people, or offer any pleasantries. If he wasn’t royalty, no one would invite him to anything, governor or not.” “So...it wasn’t him suggesting the barracks expansion?” The lep gave a short laugh. “No, sir. That was his majesty’s idea, and Prince Furneim’s. It would have happened sooner if his highness the governor had shown more enthusiasm. You won’t get any help from him.” “Hmmm, we’ll see. The governor needs to be involved in this, lep. It will need the entire town involved. Does he not even care about the new infirmary? The engineering workshops?” “No, sir. At least, he’s never said anything. We do wonder sometimes if his majesty just wanted to get rid of a troublesome son, sending him here. There seems no other reason for him to do so.” It was hard to conceal how much his lep’s words had depressed him, and he was still puzzled as to why his tezrei had been so enthusiastic about Prince Juimei when the reality was apparently so different. Still, a soldier did his duty regardless of circumstance, and if the governor was difficult, then he was just an obstacle to be either surmounted or avoided. There were only two hours of daylight left but Wepizi was anxious to avoid appearing in any way discourteous to the governor—especially if his lep was right and the man was prickly and unpleasant—so he sent a message to the residence politely asking if he might attend and present his papers that afternoon. A brief reply told him to do so no later than the end of second quarter— that gave him time to wash quickly and change. Then he made a brief inspection of the barracks to meet his junior officers and introduce himself. He was shown where the tents were set up on the training track and the courtyard, space which would have to be sacrificed for the duration until the new barracks were built, asked about the food and watering arrangements, and what

medical facilities were available. Everything was well in hand, so he asked one of the jirens to arrange a small escort to ride with him the half mile to the governor’s residence and offices. Coming up towards evening, the low sun struck the peaks of the Tuqul range, making them shine like flaming gold. The streets were still busy, both with people and with doigs, even the occasional urs beast, and carts, headed for the main market on the town square. Spring was a busy time, of course, and here more than most. Dizeindo was the hub of an important farming region, though farming was not its only activity. There were valuable mines in the hills, and timber too was harvested and shipped to the coast via the nearby Huoinevol river which gave its name to the region. A paper mill had started to ship products even to Darshian, and a good deal of lightweight cloth was made here from the futik plant introduced from Darshian and which grew very well in the east. Such cloth was in demand both in Andon and abroad, and was a major source of income for the Huoinevol region. It was a huge territory, and even though it was sparsely populated, as was all of Andon, still eight thousand people were under the authority of the governor of Dizeindo—though he was never likely to see more than half that number in person. There were nine hundred soldiers already established throughout the district, two hundred here in the town and around it. Wepizi’s brief was to increase that to eight hundred eventually, the same size as the Tsikiugui barracks, and with the total complement in the region to be raised to close to two thousand. His majesty hoped to double the population of the region, extending the Andonese settlements eastwards for defence reasons, and for practical ones—but there had to be better infrastructure and military protection first, before more settlers would be attracted to the area. Wepizi had already recognised on the journey that this was a region with great potential, though it had been sadly neglected for many years after the defeat of the warlords. It wasn’t the most easterly province, or the wealthiest, so it had been considered less important militarily. But it could be much more than it was, as his majesty had clearly decided. Strange that his son did not support his father’s ambitions out of simple filial duty. The town square was surprisingly grand, and wastefully large, considering how tightly some parts of the town were packed. It was cobbled stone and, except for the large, busy market which spread out from the western corner, bordered by solid respectable buildings and houses. Some had shops at ground level, and others had a dual purpose, the look about them as if business was transacted there, as well as providing homes for their wealthy owners. The mayor’s residence and town hall was the most imposing building, by far the tallest and most splendid in scope. A steady stream of people passed in and out its heavy brass-embellished doors. Next to the mayor’s house stood another large, though more utilitarian building—the infirmary, so a carving in stone over its entrance announced—and next to that, the school. All these buildings, built of stone and in some cases brick, were largely the exception from what Wepizi had seen. The region was prone to earth tremors, and the local building material of choice, as least for the common folk, was wood—cheap, quick to work with, and in plentiful

supply. Stone, of course, was also plentiful, but stonemasons were not, while any fool could swing a hammer if need be. The low building style was, to Wepizi’s eyes, rather dull, even more so than Tsikiugui’s which was hardly outstandingly lovely. But it was tidy, the streets well swept, the people clean and confident, an air of quiet prosperity about them which made the ordinary architecture look dignified and comforting. This place felt much more self-contained than Tsikiugui, but a port city with its mixed population would always seem more unstable than this, where the residents lived in the one place all their lives, doing the same jobs their parents had, and living in the same houses. Placid—that was the word for it. The governor’s house, located in the more prosperous northern end of the town on the far side of the square, was a large, elegant building, far more beautiful than many of the surrounding houses, and like the mayoral residence, was constructed mainly of white-painted stone. It stood out quite markedly, and not just for the generous gardens in a town where space was tight. Wepizi would have known a ruler lived there, even without the high fence and the soldiers on guard who saluted smartly as he introduced himself. All was as he would have expected at a governor’s residence thus far. But still...already there was something...an air of...not quite neglect, but a lack of interest certainly, in the gardens, as if only the bare minimum was done to keep them tidy. The governor’s house in Tsikiugui, though a much less attractive building than this, still had pleasant gardens and sculptures around it, and was constantly being improved by the governor and her husband. Here there were few flower beds and no sculptures at all, mostly just grass and unimaginatively cut shrubs, as if the owner only cared that they were tidy, not beautiful. Not the gardens of someone who enjoyed them, he felt. A shame—in the spring, most houses in Andon were bright with colour, even those with the tiniest of gardens, and as he had ridden through the town, he had seen provincial Dizeindo was just the same. But this, the largest and most important building in the town, was dull and uninspiring. Not a good sign. The house proved to be as elegant on the inside as out. Someone in the past had decorated it with taste and an appreciation of how ornamentation could lift the spirit when the residents were trapped inside a home during long dull winter months, using pale colours and scenes of nature to give an illusion of space and light. Wepizi found the effect very pleasing, and a welcome surprise after the gardens. There were quite a number of staff present, and like the soldiers outside, they seemed to be efficient and hard-working. If there was a lack of interest in government from the top, it didn’t seem to have infected the lower ranks, which was fortunate. He was greeted courteously by a senior servant, and conducted without delay to the governor’s office which lay at the rear of the building. A young man opened the door and regarded him coolly as he ushered him in. Then he turned to bow towards the person behind the desk. “Tezrei, your highness. Lep Wepizi, his highness, Prince Juimei of Godiw. “

“Thank you, Neime.” The voice was a little odd, slightly slurred sounding. Wepizi bowed deeply, then straightened. “May I present my credentials, your highness?” He found himself looking at a thin-faced young man, staring back at him with an absolutely unreadable expression. That expression didn’t change as he gestured to his assistant, who came over and put his hand out for Wepizi’s documents. No one asked him to sit, which he found strange, but he handed his papers over and the assistant took them to the prince. Wepizi had to stand while the governor carefully read his documents—it was like being a junior officer all over again, in his lep’s office at a new posting. He stood to attention while he waited, but used the time to examine the two men before him. The assistant was perhaps only twenty or so—the prince he knew to be nearly thirty, though he didn’t look it. Both were dressed rather soberly, servant mirroring his master in plain, dark clothes which would have suited any of the clerks just as well. The prince’s dark hair was cut severely short, shorter than even the army required, giving him a rather ascetic appearance, emphasised by the fact that neither man wore any ornament. If Wepizi had passed them in the street, he’d have noted nothing particular about either of them. The prince sat at a tidy desk, with only a single book upon it, open with a bookmark at the page. The normal detritus of a desk was quite absent, as if it was little used—certainly, the desk of the Tsikiugui governor was much more untidy, though it didn’t necessarily mean the occupant did more or less work than someone whose desk was clear. The entire office was similarly orderly, neatly decorated in the same style as the rest of the building—indeed, there was little to distinguish it from the other rooms he’d passed though, as if the occupant had not stamped his personality on it at all. Yet the prince had been here four years. It was most odd. At last the man finished, handed the papers back to his assistant, who gave them back to Wepizi and then moved away again. “They’re in order. Arrangements at the barracks are in place, I assume.” “Yes, your highness—most efficiently. I am to have a meeting tomorrow with the engineers and other officers to plan how we shall begin. If you’re free, it would be most helpful to have your views at this stage.” “I shall not be involved in this, tezrei. It’s a military affair. I expect it to be done with as little interference with the safety and operation of the town as possible—other than that, you have a free hand.” The prince didn’t even look at him as he said all that, as if Wepizi himself was of no importance. Lep Tovoi hadn’t exaggerated his description in the slightest. “With the greatest respect, your highness, this expansion will have a considerable impact and importance on the civilian population. Decisions will need to be taken and authorised by you, if his majesty’s wishes are to be carried out.”

The prince lifted his head and gave Wepizi a frigid look. “Are you presuming to tell me how best to serve my own father, tezrei?” “Of course not—” “You better not be. I told you, you have a free hand so long as you stick to your brief, which has been very clearly laid out by his majesty.” “Yes, your highness. However, there is one addition to my brief for which I would like to seek your approval. For several years I have been—” “Is that moustache regulation?” “I beg...your highness?” Wepizi blinked, his thoughts completely knocked off course by this interjection. “That thing on your face—surely it’s not regulation.” “Yes, your highness, it’s within—” “I wish it removed. I won’t have officers in this town sporting such ridiculous adornments. You will remove it forthwith.” Wepizi stiffened to attention. “Your highness, I regret I must decline.” “That was a direct order!” “Yes, your highness. One which I regret I must decline.” “You will be reported to the king and council for your insolence!” “As you see fit, your highness.” Wepizi was pretty sure that not even this sour-tempered man would go so far, and if he did, his request would be treated with derision. His majesty had better things to do than worry about the facial hair—entirely within regulations—of an officer in one of the most distant districts. “I did want to—” “Get out. Just get out. Neime, show him the door.” Wepizi hardly had time to realise the interview was over before he was hustled out by the assistant and left in the corridor like a misbehaving child. “What in the name of the benevolent god...?” He scratched his head. Lep Tovoi never said anything about the governor actually being mentally unstable. What was this strange antagonism towards his poor moustache? He stroked it protectively. He would do a great many things for his country and give his life gladly to serve its people—but until someone could convince him that shaving the moustache Lema had liked so much would actually save a life, he would continue to politely refuse such an eccentric order. He shook his head and walked down the corridor, but turned as he heard quickly rushing footsteps and his name spoken quietly. It was the assistant, Neime. He waited politely for the young man to catch up with him. “Wait, tezrei. Please—his highness regrets...his lack of calmness.”

Wepizi bowed. “If I’ve given offence, sir, then I too offer my regret. I had more things I wished to ask his highness about—should I return?” That caught the young man by surprise. “Uh...not today—he’s...unwell. It’s put him out of sorts. Please—send your reports to me, and I’ll make sure he reads them.” “I don’t wish to cause further offence, sir, but this project needs more attention than that, if it is to succeed.” “You’ll have to find another way around it, tezrei.” “I don’t understand—does he not care at all about what his majesty wants?” The man stiffened, his expression now haughty and cold as his master’s had been. “Please do not make assumptions about his highness’s thoughts or his attitudes, tezrei. He regrets his behaviour. Don’t presume that gives you any right to criticise him.” “I don’t, and I apologise. Please tell him I hope he feels better soon, and I’ll send a report on my meeting tomorrow.” “Thank you.” Wepizi was clearly once again expected to leave, and he did so with a sense of relief, though he was hardly encouraged by such a start to his new posting. Ah well. He really would just have to find another way to do this, however oddly that sat with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 6 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei was staring sightlessly out at the darkening sky as Neime came back in. He didn’t turn around—he didn’t want to see his page’s disapproving expression, for all he deserved it. “Why do you care? He’s only a bloody soldier.” “Because I didn’t want him to have a bad impression of you, and because he’s someone you will need to work with. You really can’t just leave this project to him.” He heard steps as Neime came closer. “How’s your headache?” “Crippling.” “Then let me massage your neck.” “Why bother? It’ll only come back.” He heard Neime sigh. “Jui—please. I hate it when you’re like this.” Juimei hated himself when he was like this too. It was just that his head hurt so badly at times, and that man—and that ridiculous moustache.... He turned around. “Really should report him for his insolence.” “Yes, of course,” Neime said dryly. “‘Dear Majesty. I have taken offence at a moustache worn by a perfectly harmless officer with impeccable credentials because he reminds me of my former lover. Please have him hanged. Your dutiful son.’ Would you like a clerk to write that out for your signature, your highness?” Juimei leaned heavily on his cane and scowled at his friend. “I should report you for your insolence.” “Go ahead, your highness. Then you really won’t have a friend in the entire Huoinevol region. Don’t you get sick of living like this?” “Yes.” “Then—” “Shut up. This is the path I choose. Accept it or leave. I have no need of friends—I can hire servants.” “Oh, Jui,” Neime said, shaking his head, and putting his hand out. “Come sit—a neck rub will help. So would not getting so upset.” “Command the sun not to rise with greater purpose.” He limped over to his desk and sat down. Neime came around behind him, and then clever, careful fingers were at his neck. Juimei bowed his head so his page could work his magic.

“The army doesn’t need me to supervise this,” he said after a few moments, when he had calmed a little. “That’s why we appointed a tezrei in the first place—for him to take over. If he needs a civilian liaison, let that be you.” “Yes, because I simply have so little to do all day at the moment. Jui—this is your job. You don’t have to be friends with these people—but they need your authority. Even with that moustache, Lep Wepizi isn’t—” Juimei slammed his fist down on his desk. “Do not say that name.” “I wasn’t going to. Will you please calm down? Your neck’s like an iron band.” He tried to obey, but the odd disturbance in his spirit the sight of the new officer had caused, refused to go away. “I’ll have him replaced.” “Because of a moustache? You’ll look like a fool.” “More of a fool, you mean. I already lisp and limp, why not be irrational as well?” “You’re certainly doing a good job at that. And you do not lisp. It’s not even noticeable, unless you’re tired or upset. You know the answer to that, don’t you?” “Sleep more and stay calm. So easy for you to say. You sleep like a child.” “You sleep like a man possessed. I wish I could make the nightmares go away,” Neime said quietly. Juimei said nothing. Easier for Neime to think he was tormented by evil dreams, than the truth—that in fact the dreams tormented him with images of happiness, where he was strong and fit and in complete control of his body, where Mikinze was his lover and bond mate, never to be parted. More than once, waking from such a thing, and finding the reality once more, he’d been tempted to take his own life. Neime would never know how close it had come—or that he was very often the only thing that kept Juimei from picking up a knife and putting an end to his miserable existence. He prayed, though it was blasphemous, for an illness to carry him off in such a way that Neime would not feel any guilt. But in reproach, Sephiz had granted him good health, if not well-being—he might be crippled, plagued by headaches and dreams and depression, but he never even got a cold. But why would Sephiz reward his blasphemy? He had to admit his approach might be flawed. “You should go to this meeting, Jui. Your father would expect you to.” “My father doesn’t give a damn. As long as there is peace and taxation collected, Huoinevol district is of no importance to him.” “Then why this...?” “Furneim. Blasted Furneim, interfering.” But even as he said the words, just the thought of his older and much-loved brother sent a wave of homesickness though him. It never seemed to get any easier, this exile. He made himself ignore this now familiar misery. “Huoinevol needs new infrastructure, but doubling the population? It’s just empire-making.”

“Your brother is a good ruler in the making. He’s looking to the future of Andon, as is only proper.” “A future in which I have no place. Leave it, Neime, or we’ll be at odds. I can’t afford that.” Neime paused in his massage, then resumed. If his page had not proved his worth a thousand times, a thousand times a thousand, Juimei might be worried by the level of trust he placed in a servant. His life was literally in Neime’s hands. The lad knew his secrets—most of them—knew his thoughts on just about everything. The only thing between me and stark staring madness, Juimei thought, and wondered whether he should be grateful for that or not.

~~~~~~~~ Normally Wepizi ate alone in the evenings, though he often joined the lower ranks after supper for drizu and conversation. But tonight he wanted more information, the sort that would only come from senior officers. To that end he organised dinner in his quarters—actually the guest officers’ quarters, since rooms suiting a tezrei’s dignity had not yet been constructed—and invited the two leps he had brought with him to supplement lep Tovoi’s authority, as well as Tovoi himself. Over the meal he received reports on how his people had been fitted into the compound, and received suggestions for how things should be managed in future, but what he really wanted to know about was the governor. He told them how the meeting with prince Juimei had gone—Tovoi wasn’t the least surprised. “He threw a glass at the mayor once. That caused a stink and a half, I can tell you. That man of his, Neime, had to come and grovel to stop the mayor having the prince arrested for assault.” “He does seem to be the peacemaker. Does his highness have any friends at all in Dizeindo? My tezrei in Tsikiugui said the prince was very popular in Visiqe.” “Not here,” Tovoi said flatly. “He never asks people to dinner, and never accepts social invitations. He hardly even leaves the residence. Doesn’t ride of course—not with that leg of his.” “Leg?” Wepizi asked. “He’s crippled—paralysed or something like it. Has a weak leg and arm. A riding accident— well, a doig-ito accident. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, sir. It was about four, four and a half years ago.” Around about when Lema died. “I was...otherwise occupied at that time, Tovoi. I didn’t notice anything of that kind today—but he didn’t stand up, so perhaps I wouldn’t.” “He usually doesn’t, if he can help it. He speaks a bit strangely—that’s part of it too, I believe. The medics can explain it better than me. I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t so eviltempered.”

“Ah, but it sounds like the secret of his evil temper must lie partly in this injury,” Wepizi said. “A terrible misfortune in anyone, let alone a fit young man.” “Perhaps, sir, but Sephiz gives us the choice of how we deal with such things. I can’t pity someone who chooses so unwisely.” “Pity won’t help. Understanding might—and if we’re selfish, we should try to do so if only to profit our endeavours. But for now, let’s discuss how we’ll proceed tomorrow.” So our prince is grieving too, Wepizi thought as he prepared for bed. Only he had lost not a wife, but his health. Four years was a long time to be sure, but Wepizi had not forgotten his sorrow in all that time, and he didn’t have to live with a daily reminder of it in the form of a damaged body. Now he knew the facts, the answer to the dilemma was simple—but far from easy. Their governor had to learn to stop grieving. Perhaps when I discover that trick, I can pass the secret on. But somehow he had to engage this man’s interest in the expansion plans. It would be good for his highness, and essential for the success of the project. What an interesting challenge this assignment was turning out to be—and in most unexpected ways.

~~~~~~~~ The megrims of their resident prince had to be set aside for the moment, as it was imperative to make a start on the new barracks. His first duty was to inspect the land which had been cleared and prepared in advance, ready for Wepizi’s newly arrived engineers, carpenters and skilled labourers to begin construction. The plan was to create the new barracks and quarters for the married personnel outside the town walls, while simultaneously enlarging those walls to enclose the planned area of the new outpost. This would increase the length of the wall by almost a third, a task more daunting than building the barracks themselves. Once the extended walls were complete, part of the old wall would be destroyed, so that the barracks would be once more on the inside of the town boundaries. This was as much as was likely to be achieved before winter, when the frozen ground and the weather would put a halt to all building. But it was essential that not only did the newly arrived soldiers have proper shelter for the winter, but that the new infirmary was completed by then. It was intended to serve both the army and the civilian population, and was much needed, as the town’s present establishment was old and too small for the needs of the existing population, let alone an enlarged one. Indeed, plans to expand the barracks had grown on the back of plans to expand the infirmary, so civilian and military aims were closely tied together on this project. The engineers began work immediately, since the siting of the soldiers’ quarters and its design had been agreed some time ago. Other matters required agreement and discussion, and that was what Wepizi wanted settled at his first meeting with the mayor, the head of the present

infirmary, the town elders, and their chief architect. His arrival was cause for satisfaction, as was made clear as they sat down in the main meeting room at the barracks and he was introduced to the civilians. “No disrespect to his majesty or the council, Tezrei, but we’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the mayor said, as his colleagues nodded. “The neglect of our public facilities has been a scandal under this administration.” “Well, we’ve begun now,” Wepizi said peaceably. “Let me hear your ideas.” It became clear they had only been waiting to be heard, and if he’d thought Karik had big plans, it was nothing as to what the civic leaders had. They wanted an infirmary twice the size of the present building, a third again bigger than that already agreed to, and a school to train engineers and chemists attached to it, providing skills to both army and civilians. They wanted better communications, improved roads in the mountains between the forests, mines and the plains, a new bridge lower down the Huoinevol, and locks to make the upper reaches more navigable as they were below Dizeindo. Wepizi listened to the admirable but ambitious plans with apparently polite interest, but inside, his heart sank. There was no way even the greatly enlarged establishment already agreed could come close to doing all this, at least, not quickly. And yet all they were saying was perfectly reasonable, and probably necessary if his majesty’s plans for the region were to be realised. “My friends,” he said finally once the outpouring of suggestions had died down a little, and more drizu was brought to give everyone a break. “You must know most of this is well beyond my ability to agree to. Have you put any of this to his highness?” He could already guess the answer, and right on cue, expressions darkened. “Letter after letter has been sent, and all that we get is a ‘the matter will be looked into’,” the mayor said. “Tezrei, you must impress upon him that now is the chance to put the infrastructure in place. The mines could be expanded, there is farming land yet unexploited, but we need the roads and the bridge and the river improvements. His majesty knows our best engineers work in the army—we can’t do this without your help.” Wepizi bowed a little. “Then I shall put it to his highness as best I can. Healer Queon, let’s go over this infirmary in more detail as that’s the most urgent matter.” The meeting lasted three hours, and he had a headache by the time he was done and had bid the officials farewell. Lep Tovoi had joined them for the last hour, and Wepizi suggested they ate lunch together in his quarters. “I take it you heard the full list of complaints,” Tovoi said dryly as they collected the container of stew and bread to take back to Wepizi’s rooms. “Though I don’t feel charitably inclined towards our governor, I feel our civilians expect the army and his majesty to do what they could themselves be working on. The infirmary is something they could have started.” “But they said we have all their engineers.”

“We do, but they didn’t need one to extend the existing infirmary. The previous governor even offered them a building to convert, but they wanted a new one, and they wanted the army to build it. The elders said it wasn’t up to them to fund it from a civic collection since the army used it too, but there wasn’t the funds then to build another.” Wepizi stroked his moustache. “There aren’t funds now for these schemes. But maybe some could be done within the existing budget. I need to speak to his highness.” Tovoi lifted an eyebrow. “Good luck with that, sir. Apart from all his other charming characteristics, he seems to be tight-fisted. The school hasn’t had any examination prizes donated in his entire time here. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that these things matter.” That gave Wepizi almost more concern than his strange encounter the previous day. If the governor and his district lost all connection with each other, how long would it be before the authority of the crown, in whose name the governor ruled, was questioned? Since the overthrow of the warlords, his majesty and council ruled by consent, the army policed by consent. That consent could and had been withdrawn from rulers in the past. The people here seemed too peaceful to revolt, but discontent, unnecessary discontent, was not something Wepizi liked to see encouraged. Andon had only to look to Kuprij to see what could happen if it was left unchecked. After lunch, he made his notes and drew up a summary of what he’d learned that morning and the ideas concerning the infirmary, and then decided he would walk up to the governor’s residence on his own to get a feel for the town and the people. The impression of prosperity he’d got the previous day was confirmed as he walked amongst well-fed, neatly dressed people. The river was the key to this—it was ice-free for all but two months a year, and gave this otherwise isolated region a relatively fast and reliable connection to the sea and to external trade. The elders were right—improving the shipping access at the docks would be essential if the population expanded. But he only had five hundred soldiers right here, and they had to police this region as well as work on major engineering projects. The people of Dizeindo could do with some of the famously independent spirit of the northern tribes—especially with the governor they had. But there was a paradox too—if the prince was incompetent or lazy, Wepizi would expect things to look more run down than they did, for there to be more discontent than there was. Somehow, he managed to govern without doing so overtly. Or perhaps the previous governor’s staff managed to carry on despite official indifference—Wepizi had known that to happen in the army. A puzzle to work through, he thought, as the soldiers at the residence bowed and allowed him through. He wasn’t surprised when his request to present his report to the governor resulted in the man’s assistant coming to the reception to take his documents. He had his reply ready. “I’m sorry, sir—but this must be dealt with by his highness himself.” Neime narrowed his eyes at him, then beckoned him away from the front area. “I told you,” he said in a low voice. “This isn’t possible.”

“I regret that it must be, sir,” he said with a pleasant smile—for this man was only doing his duty and protecting his master. “There are matters which require his highness’s attention, and his decisions.” “I’ll discuss your report with him and present you with his answers. Why is that a problem, tezrei?” “Sir, if you came to the barracks to speak to me, would you consider it adequate if one of my grois insisted on being a go between? If your tribe sent a vote for a council decision, would it be acceptable to have it used for another decision?” The young man drew himself up, but there was a weary sadness behind his hauteur. “You’re being ridiculous—that’s not what I’m doing here. What are you implying, tezrei?” “Nothing, sir—I do not question your honour in the least. Nevertheless, this is a matter for his highness. Not his highness’s assistant.” “Why are you pushing this, tezrei? No one else has a problem with our methods.” “Are you sure about that?” he answered quietly, fixing Neime with a firm look. “You wish to spare your master trouble and hurt—it’s most admirable. But...in shielding him, do you prevent him from healing?” Neime exhaled sharply. “You’re most impertinent, tezrei.” Wepizi bowed. “I’m sorry if I appear that way. Sir, perhaps you should...allow me to just do my job. If his highness objects, let him do that to my face. I can handle his anger.” “So you think,” Neime muttered. “Tezrei, he finds...people...a troubling burden. For excellent reasons. Particularly strangers.” “Then allow me to cease to be one,” he said, still smiling. “You’ll find me immovable on this point, sir. I, like all soldiers, have my orders. Mine are to liaise directly with his highness in the policing and defence of this region. They don’t say liaise with his assistant.” Neime seemed about to snap something back, but then he gave Wepizi a curt nod. “As you wish, tezrei.” He walked towards the governor’s office, but as Wepizi followed, he suddenly turned, his expression fierce. “You will not distress or insult him.” As if this child had any authority to tell him to do anything—but Wepizi allowed him the moral right anyway. “I try not to distress or insult anyone, sir. It’s not in my nature. We’re conduits of Sephiz’s love, and any of his creatures in pain deserve more, not less care.” Neime stared at him, as if trying to determine his honesty. Finally he nodded. “Come with me.” He was asked to wait while Neime spoke to his master—he imagined the conversation would not be an easy one, but the prince’s assistant struck him as a determined young man. A minute or so later, the door opened, and he was ushered in by a stony-faced Neime. The prince was on his feet, and now Wepizi saw he had to use a cane to stand. His eyes flashed with aristocratic anger, and his voice, slurred or not, dripped with hauteur.

“Tezrei? Are you in the habit of demanding to see senior government officials without an appointment?” Refraining from mentioning he also was a senior government official, he bowed formally. “Your highness, I believe I said I would present the report of the meeting today. It seemed most efficient to simply bring it along.” “And you have so few duties that you couldn’t ask one of your soldiers to do that for you.” “Your highness, in matters of such gravity, it is only appropriate they are handled directly.” The prince scowled at him as Neime approached and said, “Tezrei, would you care to sit?” That transferred the evil look from Wepizi to the prince’s assistant, but Neime’s blank expression didn’t change. Wepizi accepted the invitation and sat in a heavy wooden chair in front of the prince’s desk, which wasn’t as clear as it had been the previous day. The man did do paperwork. “Well? Where is this famous report then?” Wepizi handed it over, and the prince opened it immediately and started to read. There was no enquiry as to whether it was convenient for Wepizi to wait, but he didn’t really expect there to be. He waited politely, and used the time to observe the prince in action, trying not to be distracted by Neime’s obvious anxiety. The prince read quickly, but with great attention, occasionally rubbing his temple as if he had a headache. He made a note or two in the margins, and startled Neime by suddenly snapping out an order for a book from the other side of the room, which he then referred to several times as he continued to read the report. Finally he pushed it away from him with a sour look. “Don’t want much, do they. Of course this is all impossible.” “Your highness, I believe the cost of the infirmary additions could be recouped by economies in other directions. I’ve made a note here.” “Pass it over—do I have to drag everything from you?” Wepizi obeyed, ignoring Neime’s annoyed look. The prince took the note, scanned it, then thrust it away irritably. “Oh, this is ridiculous—you want his majesty to spend more money, just to promote a bunch of Darshianese plant collectors? You’re as greedy as the elders, tezrei.” “No, wait, your highness—let me explain.” The prince listened with a sceptical expression, and when Wepizi was done, he dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “Impossible. If the Darshianese want to spend their money, there’s a building they can outfit. That’s as much as I can offer them. But I’m not turning over part of the new barracks to their use.” “Not their use, your highness.” “I said ‘no’, tezrei. I’ve heard all this before, and I’ve passed on the plans to his majesty. The king and council have yet to decide.”

“Have you pursued it, your highness?” “Are you telling me how to do my job, tezrei?” “No, your highness. I just...got the impression that the elders felt their views had been...neglected.” The prince curled his lip. “And you have appointed yourself their champion. Not even here twenty-four hours, and you understand the interactions and politics of this town so well. My compliments, sir—you’re clearly a genius.” Wepizi bowed. “My apologies, your highness. I take the responsibility for such rashness.” “Not a good beginning, tezrei. I don’t really care if you disapprove of my methods, but you will not interfere with my position—do I make myself clear?” “Yes, your highness. Bu, your highness, might I persuade you to come and inspect the construction site and meet our engineers? It would make the reports much more comprehensible.” “I don’t believe that will be necessary,” the prince said, his eyes cold. Wepizi found the man staring at his moustache. He stroked it a little and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry this offends you, your highness. You see—my late wife was very fond of it, so I keep it as much to honour her memory as anything else.” The prince sat back and sneered. “Your domestic misfortunes do not concern me, Tezrei. Are we finished?” Wepizi blinked—if the man had reached across his desk and slapped him, he couldn’t have been more horrified. “Yes,” he said stiffly. He got up and stalked out of the room, not caring if he was thought rude, not caring what this man thought about the smallest thing. Benevolent god, forgive me, but if I don’t get out of this place now, I may sin most grievously against your laws. He was pretty sure punching a prince of the blood on his arrogant nose would not advance his career. But he was equally sure that if he ever met this creature again, even with his own distaste for vengeance and violence, he would be very, very tempted to toss his career aside just for the pure satisfaction of landing that hit. Oh, my dear love, how joyless is a life that can dismiss love and grief so easily. I know I’m luckier than he is, for I have known you and loved you, and been loved in turn. No one could love a man like that. I pity anyone who would even try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 7 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei shoved the pestiferous reports from that obnoxious tezrei into a drawer—did he honestly think the kingdom had so much spare revenue that it could turn this province into a kingdom in its own right? “I told you it was a waste of time seeing him,” he said to Neime, behind him near the window. There was no reply. He turned, annoyed that Neime was on his bad side so it was awkward to twist—and found his page staring at him, lips pressed grimly together, high spots of colour in his cheeks. “Something amiss, Neime?” “I was just wondering how I could have been so mistaken about you, your highness,” he said, his voice trembling. “To think for over four years, I’ve been feeling sorry for you over your treatment by Count Mikinze, only to find you’re just as cruel and vicious as he was.” Juimei felt as if he’d been struck in the face. “You dare to say such a thing to me?” “Yes I do. I’ve worked for you for seven years. I’ve served you, I’ve cared for you, comforted you, covered for you, protected you, even lied for you. I’ve done this because you’re my master and I love you. But I swear upon the benevolent god himself—if you ever say something like that to another person in or out of my hearing, I’ll walk out and never return to you, oath or no oath.” Neime’s hands were clenched into fists—he shook, he was so angry. Juimei couldn’t understand why he was so upset. “But he’s—” “Another human being, same as me or you. I don’t care what offence you’ve taken at him, or what reason you had—you went too far, your highness. That was a loathsome thing to say,” he spat. “Are you going to pretend your misfortune in love is the greatest tragedy that any man has ever suffered, and the sorrows of everyone else are mere trifles? Your lover rejected you—his wife died.” “I just—” Neime stalked towards his desk, and even with all their history, Juimei actually wondered if his page was going to hit him. But all Neime did was rest his hands on the desk and lean over. “You. Go. Too. Far. I realise I’ve made a mistake.” “In serving me?” “In protecting you. I thought I was giving you time to heal. But all I’ve actually done is to keep your injury fresh, allowed you to pick at it and worry at it, so it will never heal. No more, your highness. I won’t protect you any more. You fight your own battles, you make your own negotiations, and you will apologise to that man.”

“Who do you think you are, speaking to a prince of the blood in this manner? You forget your position entirely!” Neime bowed in the most formal manner, his lips still pursed in anger. “I am his majesty’s loyal and obedient servant, your highness—and yours. But I fear that to do my duty towards you, and serve you best, I must cease to serve you at all. It’s only allowing your illness of spirit to fester and to rot, and I’m ashamed of the man you’ve become.” “Neime...not you too...please...you swore an oath.” Neime stared at him with eyes brimming with tears. “I swore an oath, and I’ve renewed it daily. I swore to serve you, and I also swore to make you happy. I’ve failed, so I should go.” “You can’t—I need you...Neime, you can’t! Please,” he whispered. “I can’t...go on without your help. Do you want me to beg?” Neime shook his head. “No. But I can’t bear to see you become a heartless, cruel, selfish bastard either. I’ve made excuse after excuse for you—but I can’t do that anymore. You have to find your own path to redemption now. You’re beyond my ability to help anymore.” Neime turned, and, panicked, Juimei struggled to his feet. “No! Neime, please—don’t...don’t do this to me...please, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just don’t go....” He grabbed his cane and limped around the desk. His stupid foot caught on the carpet and he stumbled—instantly Neime was there to catch him, put him upright, as he had done for nearly five years with utter, perfect loyalty. Juimei clutched his shirt in his hands and stared into his friend’s eyes, begging him not to go. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered. “Just don’t abandon me. I’ll try, I’ll truly try.” Neime put his hands around Juimei’s. “It’s not that you don’t try, it’s that your efforts are going in the wrong direction. I hoped and prayed you’d come out of this on your own...but I don’t think you know how to anymore. But I don’t know what to do either, except this.” He squeezed Juimei’s hands gently. “This time, you have to find different answers.” “I could apologise.” “Yes, you could.” “Will you fetch him back then?” “No, I won’t. You offended, you do the running. You don’t need two good legs for this.” Juimei smiled a little, but his heart still stuttered with fear. “You won’t leave?” “If you fix this, no. I can’t stay if you won’t, Jui. To facilitate those who would do harm is a sin as great as doing the harm yourself.” “I still need your help. I’ll always need your help.” But that upset Neime again. “My prince—if that’s true, then I really have failed. All I’ve wanted for you since you were hurt was for you to stand on your own two feet again, and be the

man you were—happy, brave, independent. If all I’ve done is make you into someone who can’t survive on his own, then I’ve done you more harm than good.” He felt suddenly cold, chilled to his very core, like it was winter in this room and in his heart. “I’m the failure then.” Neime shook his head, his expression kind. “No. You’ve stumbled. I caught you. Try again. That’s how you taught yourself to walk—now teach yourself how to live again too. But live as a man, not an animal. Don’t be like him.” Juimei closed his eyes, knowing which ‘him’ Neime meant, unable to stop the memories flooding back. Neime had been right to compare him to Mikinze—Miki had been cruel, and his tongue had never hesitated to flay without conscience. The last time Juimei had seen him, he’d received a torrent of scorn and disdain for his weakness, for his failure as a potential mate, that had left him suicidal. And yet, even knowing what that felt like, he had carelessly dished out the same kind of thing to someone who had not done him an ounce of harm, nor intended any. “I don’t want to be like this,” he murmured. “Then stop.” “So simple?” He opened his eyes. Neime was still smiling kindly, though a little sadly. “Simple, yes. No one said anything about ‘easy’. You were never one to give up because it was hard, though.” “I try not to. What should I do to mend it?” “First? Read those reports again, and this time, try not to be such a bastard about it.” He laughed, as much in relief as at the rudeness—he had been afraid he would never be teased again. “You are a most insolent page, Neime.” “Only when you need it, my prince. Now go and sit down before you fall down, and let’s begin on this.”

~~~~~~~~ It took Wepizi several hours, and, finally, a silent vigil up on the city walls, keeping watch alongside his soldiers, before he could recover some calmness of spirit, and put Prince Juimei’s stupidity into perspective. Of course it wasn’t personal—the man had never met Lema, and didn’t know him, so it was just mindless spite. No, it was Wepizi’s own weakness that allowed him to be so hurt and offended by the words of a fool, to contemplate actions which would shame both him and Lema’s memory, even if he had not the slightest intention of ever offering violence to anyone, let alone a prince and a governor. Ah, Lema, my own wounds are still too raw for complete rationality. You would pet me and tell me I was being silly, and make me laugh. I wish you were here now, my beloved. He stared up

at the moon, seeing her face instead. Sometimes, it seems only yesterday you were by my side. How can it be four years ago already? The silent sky had no answer for him—it never did. Finally he sighed, stretched cramped muscles as he stood, and nodded to the soldiers standing watch close by him. The men probably thought he was a little touched, and perhaps he was, tonight at least. He returned to his quarters, and opened his diary. He had kept one sporadically all his adult life, but after Lema’s death, he had begun to address the entries to her, at first to express his grief and longing, and then as a way to keep her in his life, to keep her memory and the friendship they’d always had, a part of him. Even though nothing could replace talking to her in the flesh, he often found that writing down his thoughts as if she could read them, allowed him to imagine what she would say, what she would advise, the comfort she would give. He spent a little time trying to collect himself, to describe as plainly and fairly as he could, what had happened that afternoon, and why he had reacted so. But tonight, he gained no sense of peace from the exercise, and finally had to admit defeat, closing the book and kissing the cover to apologise to Lema for cutting off the conversation—so to speak. As he combed out his moustache as he always did before bed, he wondered again why the prince had this odd animus against it. The only real answer was that the accident which had crippled him, had addled his sense and his manners. And for that, not even Lema’s wisdom had an answer. “Sephiz, I need your help as always. Grant me patience—and please protect my moustache, benevolent god.” He chuckled, the first smile in hours. Maybe he should make it a little suit of armour or something—to save it from predatory princelings. He slept soundly and woke in a better mood, feeling he had been rather foolish to overreact so. He had far more important things to deal with. Since his highness refused to sanction any deviation from the original plan, then that was what he would have to go with—but he might still be able to accommodate a little of the elders’ wishes, and Karik’s, without going against his brief. He needed the architect again, and after breakfast, he had another meeting with her and their chief engineer, who agreed to give the matter some thought. They went up together onto the town wall to survey the site. Only a few days had passed but already the place had turned into a hive of organised activity. Wepizi had put his and his troops’ travel time to good use and had the men sorted into teams and the basic approach half-decided by the time they’d arrived in town. That forward thinking had paid off. Now the air rang with the sound of hammers striking metal, stone and hardwood, and dull thudding as crowbars broke up the earth prior to digging trenches and postholes for laying the foundations. From further back, away from the labouring men and where equipment was being assembled, came the grinding of mortar mixers and crane mechanisms, and shouted commands as other teams worked on their tasks.

Choking dust and smoke rose from every quarter, and Wepizi followed the chief engineer’s example, pressing an arm over his mouth and nose. Down below amidst the boards and beams, many of his people worked with kerchiefs tied over their faces. The conditions looked hellish, but the workers seemed happy enough, shouting and laughing while they worked. Along the city wall, bricks, prepared elsewhere in the town, were piled into neat rows, ready for use. Timber too, was assembled and dressed, and the rasp of a dozen wood saws made it impossible to hold a conversation in that part of the site. Wepizi didn’t need to linger, fortunately, and once they’d made their brief inspection, they descended, and walked out across the site over to the southern side, open to the farmland beyond. His experts seemed pleased with things so far. Not being an engineer himself, he had to trust the expertise of the people he’d brought with him from Tsikiugui, but Engineer Foinoiz was highly qualified—he had studied both at Darshek and at the Visiqe academy, and had rebuilt the city walls at Pinheine after a flood and landslide had devastated the north-eastern town. Wepizi’s job was coordination, planning, liaison—all the really clever stuff, he had to leave to more learned professionals. “Tezrei? The governor is here and wants to see you.” The groi who’d rushed up with the announcement was out of breath, and he looked as surprised as Wepizi felt. “Here? You mean, at the site?” The groi pointed across the trenches, and there indeed was a small doig-trap standing on the track they had laid from the road out to the site. “Yes, sir. He wants to see you now, sir.” “And without an appointment either,” Wepizi murmured. “Very good, groi. I’ll see to it.” The groi bowed and returned to his duties while Wepizi wondered what had prompted this unprecedented excursion. Sephiz, keep me calm and preserve my manners, he prayed as he walked without haste over to the vehicle, and bowed. “Your highness, you wished to see me?” The prince looked very ill at ease, and Neime, beside him, was biting his lip. “Your highness?” “I...wished to see the site for myself. As you suggested, tezrei. I wish to be shown around.” “Very well. You’ll need to walk, your highness—the ground is not suitable for this vehicle.” The prince stiffened, and Wepizi thought the impromptu visit was about to come to a premature end, but then the man nodded. “Neime?” Neime climbed out quickly, and then, in a way which suggested long practice, helped the prince awkwardly down from the trap, making it clear Wepizi’s assistance wasn’t needed or welcome. Once on the ground, the prince seemed even more uneasy, and then looked past Wepizi’s shoulder. “What are you staring at, girl?” Wepizi turned, and found a young soldier behind him. “What is it, soldier?” “Sir,” she said, looking slightly nervously at the prince, “Engineer Foinoiz says there’s a problem with the proposed line of the first wall.”

“Stop staring at me, soldier!” “I’m not, your highness.” Wepizi ignored the prince’s temper. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly, soldier.” She bowed and scurried off, no doubt relieved to be away from the prince’s hard glare. Wepizi noted Neime’s hand on his prince’s arm, which looked as if he was trying to calm his master down, but decided it was better not to mention the paranoid utterances. “Your highness? I need to look at this—do you want to come along, or would you prefer to wait?” The prince clenched his jaw. “Carry on, tezrei.” It became clear that walking was a slow business for the prince, at least over this rough ground, and Neime had to constantly support him, though Wepizi was once again politely nudged out of the way. As they made their tortuous progress, the prince found offence at every juncture, and muttered under his breath, Neime making low comments in response. Wepizi thought it was politic to ignore all this too, but wondered even more what the man thought he was doing. With a bit of warning, they could have made this easier for him, laid planking down to flatten the path, and if he hadn’t still been smarting from the previous day, he might have pointed this out to his highness. But with a lamentable lack of charity, he decided that the prince could damn well discover for himself the truth of what he would have advised. It wasn’t like he would have listened to him anyway. Polite bows were met with terse acknowledgements from the governor. “Just carry on, tezrei. I have no wish to interfere with your work.” “As you command, your highness.” Wepizi turned his back on the man, and asked Foinoiz what the problem was. It turned out there was a difficulty with the substrate that their initial survey had missed, a vein of hard rock they could not penetrate easily, which meant the alignment of the wall would have to be changed, or the design would. Both had implications for the rest of the development, as the engineer carefully explained. “Why can’t it simply be moved?” Wepizi turned. “Your highness?” “The building. This rock vein—how extensive is it?” Foinoiz answered. “I will need to make further investigations, your highness. They are usually not extensive though.” “Then move the building. Reverse the plans—what implications does that have?” The engineer’s eyebrows lifted but then he turned to Wepizi. “That would be the simplest solution—if the vein doesn’t extend too far. I would need to check my calculations.” “Do what you need to, keep me informed.” Foinoiz bowed and left.

Wepizi turned to his companions—the prince was giving him a hard look. Wepizi inclined his head. “Very helpful, your highness.” “I’m surprised you needed that assistance, Tezrei.” But as Neime narrowed his eyes, he added with a cough, “Though doubtless you might have thought of it on your own.” “Doubtless,” Wepizi said politely. “Shall we continue?” He really hadn’t planned on spending two hours this morning ushering a prince around their worksite, and it was far from being the most pleasant or productive time he’d ever experienced. The prince was so clearly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally, that a dozen times Wepizi bit back the very obvious suggestion that they do this some other day, or at least, that they cut this short. He bit it back because there was a determined look in his highness’s eye that warned him he would attract more nasty comments if he expressed what was on his mind. There were no more suggestions or comments, though the prince listened to Wepizi’s explanations and occasional conversations with his subordinates with intense concentration, his expression an almost constant scowl, changing to a glare only if he fancied someone was staring at him. Of course they’re staring, Wepizi thought in exasperation. You’re a strange civilian on a military site, and it’s their job to know who’s wandering around their territory. Did this man know nothing at all about the army? At last, Wepizi felt he had done his duty, and suggested they had achieved as much as would be profitable on this tour, and led them back to the doig-trap. “I trust that was informative, your highness.” “Very. You were right—it makes it much clearer.” Wepizi acknowledged that with a slight bow. “Uh...Tezrei, I....” He glanced at Neime, who nodded. “Tezrei, I should not have made that remark about your wife. It was uncalled for.” Wepizi only bowed again. “Your highness,” he said neutrally. “Uh...was it a recent bereavement?” Wepizi straightened and gave the prince a cold look. As if he would give the man another chance to smear Lema’s name. “I regret I do not wish to speak of this, your highness.” “But—” “I regret that I do not wish—” The prince pursed his lips. “Yes, you said. Neime, I’m going. Help me up.” Wepizi didn’t offer to help, and watched impassively as Neime helped the prince back into the trap, then climbed into the driving seat. Neime gave him a brief pleading glance, but he stared stolidly straight ahead, only bowing in the correct manner as the trap was driven away. He heard a low whistle from behind him. “Benevolent god, what was all that about?”

Wepizi turned and made himself smile at Lep Tovoi. “No idea. Come on—I need some drizu, and I need to tell you about a plan change we might be making.” What had that all been about?

~~~~~~~~ “That was a complete and utter waste of time,” Juimei muttered, his cheeks still burning from embarrassment at being dismissed in that manner—and by a damn soldier, no less! “He obviously despises me.” “You weren’t exactly being your most charming self, your highness,” Neime said calmly. “I apologised—what more did he want?” “Technically...you didn’t actually apologise. But I’ll allow that it might be taken as one,” his page said, smiling a little. “Well, I’ve done all I need to. I’ve looked at his bloody site, and I’ve expressed my bloody regrets. What more is there for me to do? My leg hurts now, and so does my head.” He sounded petulant, but his head did hurt. He was exhausted after walking all that distance and for so long. He’d have called it to a halt much earlier, but he was damned if he would give people the satisfaction of seeing his weakness. “So rude—staring at me like that.” “Mere curiosity, your highness—harmless. You are a prince, after all—people always want to see you.” He glared at Neime, who seemed to be wilfully missing the point. “I know the difference between curiosity and pity.” “I sometimes wonder if you do, your highness.” “Stupid waste of time,” he muttered, and stared carefully at nothing for the rest of the journey. Neime helped him out of the trap and into the building, giving a quiet order to the servant who came to meet them to have the residential healer sent along. “I don’t need the healer.” “You need a massage, and I want your leg checked. It shouldn’t be hurting that much.” “You fuss too much.” “Yes, your highness,” he said calmly. Juimei had to endure an examination, and then a deep massage, which he reluctantly admitted did help the cramping in his leg and the pain in his head. The healer advised him to lie down until lunch. “I have work to do, you know,” Juimei grumbled as Neime returned from showing the healer out. “All morning I’ve wasted on that. They don’t need me, I was right.” “You made a useful—if rather rude—contribution, even in that short visit. Don’t tell me you learned nothing, because I know you did.”

“They don’t need me.” Neime sat down on a stool next to his couch. “Yes, they do. Look—the kind of decision you were able to make there and then will come up a dozen, a hundred times on a project like this. Are you really happy leaving that to soldiers? Something this important?” Juimei regarded him sourly. “Ty to remember you rule me, not Huoinevol region. If I take charge of this, I open the governorship up to all the demands the tezrei presented yesterday. If I leave him in charge, he has no authority to alter my father’s brief. I won’t have this project fatally delayed because it loses focus, and I won’t have the region bankrupted by the greed of the elders. A new bridge? Do they know what that would cost and how long it would take to build? Can you imagine their reaction when the taxes go up to pay for it, even though Mayor Gixiel’s mills would be the primary beneficiary? No. The tezrei is there in my place for a reason.” “I understand. But...you can still be involved. You should meet with him, keep in personal contact. You two are the most high-ranking government officials in this district—you should work in harmony.” “He hates me.” “He’s not happy with you, no. And why do you think that is?” Neime asked, folding his arms and looking at Juimei with a wry expression. “‘I’m surprised you needed that assistance, tezrei.’ Blessed Sephiz, you all but called him a fool to his face.” “Well, I was surprised. That’s all.” “Hmmm. You should rest. We can work on your papers after lunch—I have some things I can clear up without needing to trouble you. If that’s all right with you, I mean.” Juimei waved a hand tiredly at him. “As if you need my direction in anything. Do what you need to.” Neime went to stand, but Juimei caught his sleeve. “What...should I do?” “About the project?” “About the tezrei. My offence remains. I want it cleaned away. It’s intolerable he can look at me in that manner with any justification.” Neime patted his hand gently and smiled. “Yes it is. There’s a vein of manners and charm within you. I suggest you go mining, your highness.” “You’re no bloody help.” “No, your highness. We’ll talk after lunch. Just rest. Does your leg still ache?” “A little.” “Do you want another massage?” “No. Consider it the price of incivility.” “As you wish,” Neime said, grinning at his grumpy decree. He lay with his arm over his eyes, willing the cramps in his thigh and calf to ease a little. He needed more exercise so such minor exertion didn’t reduce him to this, but it was so difficult

here. The governor’s residence didn’t have large enough gardens for long walks in privacy, and he absolutely loathed walking down the streets of the town with the way everyone stared at him, pitying, disdainful. If he could ride a doig outside the walls, that would help, but he didn’t have the strength in his arm or leg to properly control a mount anymore. He supposed with a lot of practice and a safe place to do that, he might learn to ride again in some fashion, but the only area within the walls which offered that kind of security was at the barracks. He cringed at the idea of fumbling his way around a training track in full view of curious and highly capable soldiers. He hated this life. He hated himself. He wasn’t even, at least in other people’s opinion, good at his job. He tried to be, but the population and their civic leaders didn’t just want him to govern, they wanted him to lead. That meant they wanted more of him than he had to give—but they didn’t need more. He wasn’t the king and council—merely their representative. If they wanted a ruler, they should ask for his father to come visit—as if that would ever happen. His father wrote once or twice a year for personal reasons, and that was that. His mother wrote more often, but it was clear they had been grateful to shunt him off to the distant regions where their crippled, reclusive son could no longer embarrass them. With Furneim on his fifth child, they had more family around them than they knew what to do with. He hated this too—this self-pity. Along with his fitness, the accident—and Mikinze—had stolen his manhood too. No wonder that bloody tezrei despised him. He sighed. No, the bloody tezrei despised him because he had been vile to him, and today hadn’t helped. He shouldn’t have gone to the site—they hadn’t been prepared for his visit, and there were too many people around. It had thrown him off-balance and made it even more difficult to be pleasant. He used to be good at this, damn it! He used to be able to connect so easily to people, make friends, win their trust. But he no longer trusted them not to hurt him without reason, and like a doig, people could smell when you were afraid of them. He struggled to sit up, and shoved a cushion behind him. He had work to do, and he wasn’t an invalid. That suggestion of the tezrei...he wondered if he’d been overhasty there. He would look at it again, and perhaps he could use it as a way of building a bridge. That kind of bridge, at least, didn’t need extra taxes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 8 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Trench and post hole digging had to slow down while Engineer Foinoiz carried out his additional surveys, but even with six months of effective construction time in hand, they didn’t dare waste even a day, so Wepizi set his soldiers on to materials preparation and other tasks that weren’t dependent on the siting of the buildings and walls. As he carried out his daily inspections, and negotiated all the changes with the engineer, there were always at least a dozen matters clamouring for his attention and his thoughts. An enormous amount of logistical organisation went with a project like this. Three hundred new residents in a town this size meant a large increase in food, hay and water requirements, and though Lep Tovoi had made arrangements for these, they needed some refinement. That kind of thing had to be dealt with, along with all the administrative duties of a large, busy barracks. Time had to be set aside for getting to know his officers and his soldiers, as well as the local way of doing things. Between meetings with civilians, and site inspections, and report preparation, there was very little spare time in his day. Which was why he was not entirely delighted to receive an invitation to have lunch with his highness three days after the prince’s unexpected visit to the barracks. It couldn’t be refused, of course, but his highness’s newfound fondness for interactions with his subordinates was poorly timed. “I thought you said he was horribly rude to you,” Tovoi commented when Wepizi said he would have to reschedule the meeting with the mayor and the owner of the local foundry to fit in the invitation. “He was. Maybe he wants another chance to express his feelings. I’ll try not to be long—ask Foinoiz and Rineninke to come to supper here, so I can get their reports in person.” “Yes, sir. Good luck with our prince.” Rank has its privileges, Wepizi thought wryly—and some of them he would gladly give away. He went on his own but took a doig to save time, arriving as the noon bell tolled at the mayor’s offices just across the road from the governor’s residence. He wondered why his highness had thrown a glass at the mayor—the man was rather pompous, and, so Tovoi told him, rapacious—but even having witnessed the prince losing control, it was hard to see how he could have gone so far as offer physical violence. Not with the tongue on him at least. Neime came to meet him, smiling politely. “Thank you for coming along, tezrei—I hope it wasn’t inconvenient.” “I serve his majesty and council, therefore my time is his, sir.”

“Ah—so it was inconvenient.” Wepizi shrugged apologetically. “Only a little. Is it something urgent?” “His highness can explain that. He doesn’t want to waste your time.” “No, sir.” He waited patiently for Neime to lead the way, but the man had something on his mind. “Was there something else, sir?” “Yes. Uh. His highness...uh....” He sighed. “Allow me to be frank?” Wepizi nodded, wondering what on earth was wrong. “His highness...has faced much sorrow, and he’s...lost the gift of dealing with people easily. He’s trying so very hard to heal, tezrei, but...he only has me. You...you’re the only person who comes close to being his equal here in Dizeindo.” “Sir, are you asking me to be his friend?” Neime nodded, rather embarrassed. “I’m sorry for his pain, but really...I think you’re being a little unrealistic. Friendship comes from respect, from mutual interests...forgive me for being blunt, but his highness hasn’t given me any sign of either thus far.” “Can’t you give him another chance, tezrei? For the sake of Sephiz’s love, if nothing else? You know we should never turn our back on a wounded soul.” Wepizi bowed his head to acknowledge this fact. “Indeed, and I would never deny him or anyone else help if they need it. But...my liking is not something I can turn off and on, and I’m sorry—I don’t like him.” “Because of that comment about your wife.” “That didn’t help, no. It indicated a meanness of spirit which makes me uncomfortable.” Neime stared at him, pleading. “He’s not like that, not really. He’s kind and generous and he feels everything very deeply—but he’s been hurt.” “Many people are hurt, sir. They don’t throw glasses at public officials or deride the grief of others.” “The mayor was a hectoring bully that day, tezrei, and he made an utterly despicable remark about his majesty. His highness shouldn’t have thrown the glass, but he had cause.” “And what cause had I given him, sir? Other than this,” he said, stroking his moustache. Neime drew himself up. “None. He admits it. He wants to apologise. Please, I’m asking you to allow that.” “But he already apologised.” “No he didn’t, and you didn’t accept it. Please—for the love of the benevolent god who guides us all, tezrei, can you find forgiveness in your heart for him?” Wepizi shook his head with a rueful smile. “You plead his case very well, my friend, and that you’re so devoted to him, is the best thing I’ve discovered in his favour so far. I’ve no wish to cause him pain—but he’s not dealing with toys. We have feelings, we react if attacked—same as him. Can’t he see that?”

“Yes—when he’s not blinded by his own emotions.” He bowed a little. “Forgive me for imposing on your goodwill, Tezrei—I just sense that you’re a decent man and a kind one, so I hope you’ll understand why I’m saying this.” “I do, and I take no offence. Shall we go? I really do have to get back to the barracks soon.” The prince was climbing to his feet as Neime ushered him in. “Took your time,” he muttered to his assistant, who gave him an impatient look. “Thank you for coming, tezrei. I hope this wasn’t inconvenient, but I wanted to speak to you before you made too many alterations to your site plans.” “As you wish, your highness.” “Please, do sit down. Neime, can you have lunch brought? And...drizu for the tezrei? Or juice?” “Whichever is convenient, your highness.” “Then drizu, please. Thank you.” Neime bowed and withdrew. The prince cleared his throat. “Your reports...you’re going ahead as they said?” “We’re waiting for the survey, but it looks that way, yes, your highness. In fact, there might be some slight advantages to shifting the barracks to the other side in terms of access.” “Good. I, uh, was impressed. Yes, uh...impressed by the professionalism of your team.” “I’m glad to hear that, your highness.” Not what it sounded like at the time. Wepizi wondered which was the truth. If he was an unkind man, which he hoped he wasn’t, he’d have taken some delight in watching this proud princeling squirm, but all he felt was pity. Was it really so hard for him to carry out a normal conversation? “Was that all you wanted to know?” “No, of course not, or I’d have sent a messenger,” the prince snapped, sitting down abruptly and opening a file with unnecessary force. “I’ve been rereading your suggestions about the infirmary. Do you want to hear my thoughts on that or are you too busy?” “Your highness, I’m here at your request.” The prince stared, then cleared his throat. “Quite. Uh...yes.” He looked down at his notes. “Tell me more about the work the Darshianese are doing, and how you think we can afford this under our existing budget.” Wepizi rather thought they’d been over this, but obediently he described the expedition he’d been on three years previously, and what had come of that, the teams Romi and Karik were training, and what they were doing in Andon at this very moment. “I hadn’t heard anything about this,” the prince admitted. “It’s ambitious.” “Yes, your highness. My Darshianese colleagues have big ideas.” “And do they have big fortunes, tezrei? I still don’t see how this saves us money.”

“In training, your highness. We get free training both of medics and field personnel, as well as the specimens and drugs from the expedition. His majesty considered the benefits outweighed the costs, certainly, but the additional costs, at least for the nation as a whole, are relatively small. Captain Romi’s people are self-sufficient once in the field. The facilities we would provide for them, can be used for several purposes, so we don’t need to dedicate valuable space purely for their use. It would require an enlargement of the infirmary though.” “Which we don’t have funding for—this is the same suggestion I’ve had from the town elders, though not one of them will put his hand in his pocket to donate to the outfitting of an extension. I suggested a public subscription, and was rather rudely told that it was government’s responsibility to pay for it through taxation. New taxes are very popular, you can imagine. Yet public funds are not unlimited, as you know.” “Yes, I do.” Wepizi had to reassess what he’d been told about this man. He sounded less uninterested than frustrated by competing demands. “I could suggest to the Darshek academy that they might consider it an investment worth making but it would be two months before I could get any answer—and their agreement would not be assured.” “And you need to make the decision now.” The prince rubbed his forehead. “It’s not that I’m blind to the benefits, tezrei. I can see the case perfectly clearly, same as I can understand why people want a new bridge. But we have neither endless personnel nor funding, and every soldier we bring to the region to work on something like this, costs us money just by being here. We have no surplus workforce as they do in Tsikiugui or Visiqe. We’ve had to send soldiers to help with harvesting futik on occasion, even to work in the mills here—that’s how short on manpower we are. Of course, if we attract settlers, that will help—but we need this project completed first.” “Of course, your highness. Have you explained this to the elders?” “Of course—do you take me for a fool just because I look like one?” Wepizi kept his expression mild. “No, your highness—not that you look anything of the kind.” “So you say,” the prince said bitterly. “I hear the comments, the whispers—I know that people think I’m simple-minded because I slur my words. I’m not simple-minded.” “No, your highness.” Wepizi really wished that his position and his own reluctance to offend, allowed him to answer this more frankly, but he didn’t think it would be worth the tantrum. The prince gave him a hard look. Wepizi smiled back benignly, and wondered if this was just a prelude to another display of temper, but the prince’s glare disappeared as the door opened, and Neime returned with two servants bearing trays of food and drink. These were placed on a little table quickly set up to the side—Wepizi noted approvingly it was simple fare, not dissimilar to what he would be eating back at the barracks at this time.

Neime joined them, somewhat to Wepizi’s surprise, but the reason became clear. The prince’s weak side, his arm and hand, made lifting anything heavier than a spoon rather awkward. He found serving himself difficult, but Neime was obviously well practiced at compensating. The devotion of this man for his master was beautiful to see—Wepizi could only hope Neime, at least, was spared the prince’s rages. He wondered if their relationship was even closer than that of master and servant—there was definitely love there, but of what kind, he didn’t know. So even this man has someone who cares for him, Lema. Sephiz truly is merciful. He was slightly shocked to find the prince was trying—in a clumsy manner that indicated he was out of practice at doing so—to draw him out, asking about his career, where he had lived in Andon, what he had seen of the region and so on. Wepizi answered everything politely, but resisted all questioning about his private life, especially about Lema. He sensed this annoyed the prince, but he was firm on this. This man would not sully her memory with his thoughtless cruelty again. He himself was a fair target—but not Lema. It was an awkward, uncomfortable meal, and the conversation never really flowed, though Neime tried hard to bridge the silences and to smooth his prince’s frequent lack of diplomacy, but Wepizi was left wondering what purpose any of this served. He was also acutely aware there were things demanding his attention back at the barracks, which didn’t make him any more patient with this strangeness. Finally, to his relief, the food was consumed and the prince’s limited conversational gambits had exhausted themselves—as well as him, by the look of it. “Well, tezrei, how much time do you have in hand before you need to decide the final shape of the infirmary?” “A week—ten days, no more, if I’m realistic, your highness. The foundations must be started soon.” “Is it possible for your architect to design it so it can be added to later, if we have the funds?” “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” “Good, good—well, you’d better get back. Thank you for coming.” Wepizi bowed, and made his escape. That had almost certainly been a complete waste of his time—but he had learned a little more about their governor. Nothing useful—but it was knowledge all the same. Ah well. Karik’s dreams would have to wait a while.

~~~~~~~~ “Now what did I do wrong?” Juimei asked as the door closed behind their visitor. “Nothing, your highness. I thought you did very well.” He glared at his page. “Oh, don’t humour me, boy—you saw, the man enjoyed it about as much as I did. Which is to say, not at all.”

Neime collected the plates together. Juimei nearly snapped at him to leave it for the domestic servants, but he was trying very hard not to lose his temper today. “I didn’t say he enjoyed it. I said you did very well, and you did.” “So what went wrong?” “Two things. One, he’s busy and this wasn’t convenient—” “He could have said!” Neime gave him an old-fashioned look. “I don’t think so, your highness. And the other thing was that you made a bad impression to begin with. But you didn’t reinforce that today, so I would say you did very well.” Juimei made a disgusted noise. “Absolute waste of time,” he muttered, limping off back to his desk. “I’ve got better things to do than to pander to bloody army officers.” “And he would say he’s got better things to do than to pander to bad-tempered princes. Please don’t give up so easily. He’s a very nice man, don’t you think?” “I suppose. That moustache makes him look like he’s eating a dowkiqu.” Neime came and sat down across from him, and rested his chin on his hand. “You don’t like people judging you by your appearance, so why are you doing it to him?” “Because...damn it, it makes him look like...you know who he looks like!” “Yes—he doesn’t, though. He’s a lot older, and really nothing like...the count...in appearance. He’s got much kinder eyes for a start.” Juimei glared. “Are you matchmaking?” “No, Jui. I’m just saying he’s not Count Mikinze.” Juimei shot his page an evil look for the lurch in his guts that name always gave him. “I think you should persist. Maybe...avoid personal matters though. He doesn’t like it, you can tell.” “What do we know of his wife? Do we have his records?” “There was nothing in the reports on him—the barracks would have his personnel records, of course. He’d know if you asked for them.” Juimei grunted. It irked him unreasonably that this minor detail was a secret about which he must not enquire, but he was being irrational again. “This extension—it’s a good idea. But we just don’t have the money. I can’t ask that tight-fisted bastard of a mayor for it either, since he just wants more beds, not a research station.” “I doubt he’s inclined to do you any favours anyway. Are you sure his majesty would turn you down?” “It’s the time factor. They need it now. I don’t have the money now.” His page shrugged. “Then it’s impossible. It’s not your fault. He won’t blame you for that.” And that was true. Yet it still bothered him. It symbolised so much that was wrong with his life—the disaster of his personal relationships, the limits on his powers as a governor, the

frustration of being so far from Visiqe and the centre of influence. Surely there had to be an answer. At least—an answer to some of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 9 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lunch with the prince, and the conversation with Neime before it, occupied some of Wepizi’s thoughts over the next few days, but really, he was far too busy to spend much time trying to puzzle out their strange governor and his moods. The substrate survey was completed, and though another vein of impenetrable rock had been found, requiring yet another adjustment of the ground plan, finally the engineer was happy and they could begin laying the foundations in earnest. The potential supply problem had been sorted out satisfactorily, and the project was now firmly back on schedule. All Wepizi and his people had to do was keep it there—and also make sure the normal work of the army continued. There was still a huge territory to police and guard, and still far too few soldiers to manage it. He heard nothing more from the governor, and assumed he would not. After all, it had been made clear the man could not authorise an expansion to Wepizi’s brief within the time frame granted to them, and there was nothing else left to decide. Wepizi assumed the prince was happy to revert to his originally stated position—that Wepizi had a job and he could get on with it without interference. While in some ways it still felt wrong that this was the case, in reality, there probably wasn’t much harm to come from it. The town and region had to make do with the governor they had—and now he’d seen a little more, spoken to more people, the neglect he’d suspected was more apparent than real. What was real was the resentment towards the governor, though it was limited to people who dealt with him the most. That worried him—but there was precious little he could do about it. The best hope was his majesty recalling his son and replacing him, and that was probably unlikely to happen. He was preparing to leave the barracks, on his way to make his routine inspection of the building site, when a soldier came up and saluted. “Sir, his highness the governor is here to see you.” “Again?” He resisted the temptation to sigh. “Very good—please escort his highness to my office, and have someone bring drizu. Oh, and send a message over to the site to say I’m likely to be late.” The soldier bowed and ran off. Wepizi did sigh then, as he walked back to his office. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long. Ten minutes later—much longer than he expected, and after the drizu had been delivered— he heard the slow, limping step on the verandah outside his office, and got up to admit the prince. To his surprise, the man was alone, other than a soldier acting as guide. “Good morning, your highness—please come in,” Wepizi said, dismissing the soldier and taking the prince’s arm.

The man seemed tired, and glad of his help getting to the chair. “I apologise for interrupting your routine yet again, tezrei, but I knew there was need for haste. I came to tell you I’m happy to authorise the extension of the infirmary to accommodate the research laboratory. Please go ahead and make the changes to your building plans.” “Your highness...this is very good news. But how?” “May I have some of that drizu or are you keeping it for someone else?” Hastily Wepizi remembered his manners, and poured out a mug, handing it to the prince. “Thank you. I have to tell you this in confidence, and I want the extension also arranged with as little fuss as possible. I don’t want the elders to be aware of it.” “I don’t understand—” The prince sipped his drizu. “The funds are still not available but I have decided to pay for it from my own fortune. However, that is a very limited pot, and this is strictly one off, do you understand? I don’t have a lot of money, and what I have, I plan to use to secure Neime’s future. I receive, as you know, an allowance from the state for my work here, and I have written to my father for permission to extend the infirmary. If he and the council refuse, then I’ve authorised them to withhold my allowance to repay the expense. Neime doesn’t know about any of this, and I must insist you not tell him, nor hint at it in any way.” Wepizi sat back in his chair, frankly stunned. “Your highness, this is...most generous. Very generous indeed.” The prince dismissed his gratitude with an irritable wave of his weak hand. “But why?” The prince stared at him in an almost hostile manner. “Because it’s something this region desperately needs, and unlike all the other things it desperately needs, this is something I can do and do now. I can’t afford a bridge or the locks, or a new road. I can afford this. But I won’t eat into Neime’s inheritance further. He’s served me loyally for seven years, and turned down promotions which would have brought him influence and fortune. He deserves a reward and by Sephiz, he shall have it.” “Which is just and generous, your highness. I only hope his majesty and council will see the wisdom of your decision, and decide to fund this themselves.” “Unlikely,” the prince said dryly. “This expansion is the first major project in this region in thirty years. It suffers because it’s so remote and now because its governor is disliked by the council—not just here in Dizeindo. If my brother didn’t have ideas above his station, I doubt we would even have this now. We must be grateful for small gifts, tezrei.” Wepizi blinked. “Your highness—you’re a prince of the blood. Why does the council dislike you?” “Long story. Like you, I regret I don’t wish to speak of my past.” He acknowledged the barb. “As you wish, your highness. However...may I be frank?” “When are you not, tezrei?”

Oh, you have no idea, my prince. “Your...lack of popularity here, in the town...is something you could change.” “Unlikely. Unless I can scatter largesse around and make promises I have no hope of keeping, they’ll persist in their disdain. Which only bothers me when it hinders my job. Which it doesn’t.” “Are you sure about that, your highness?” That got him a princely glare. “Permission to be frank does not imply permission to be rude, tezrei. Anyway, I’ve delivered my message—do I have your word to keep this quiet?” “On my honour as an officer, of course,” he said, bowing. “This is a noble act, your highness.” “Consider it...an apology.” The prince’s chin jutted out stubbornly as he stared hard at Wepizi. “An apology which I accept, your highness.” “Good. I...would like to inspect the site again, but I confess I found the other day a trial.” “If you can give me a day, your highness, I can make it easier for you. It’s not very accessible now, though.” “Then I’ll return. I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble of visiting me again, would I? Since it wasn’t convenient, I mean.” “My convenience is at yours, your highness.” “Hmmm—prettily said. You belong at court, tezrei.” He drank more drizu, then set the mug down and got heavily to his feet. “Let me know when I can come. I would like to meet your engineer again—his ideas were interesting. Perhaps...uh....” “Perhaps I could host a meal for you and my officers?” Wepizi said, covering the man’s obvious discomfort. “Would that be convenient?” “My convenience is at yours,” he repeated in an ironic tone, but he wasn’t scowling, at least. “Arrange it, let me know.” “As you wish, your highness. Allow me to walk you out.” “Call a soldier, man, don’t you have better things to do? You have an infirmary to extend, among other things.” Wepizi hid his smile behind his hand, stroking his moustache instead. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment to call someone.” Well, well, well. Isn’t that an interesting development, Lema? Sephiz does spread his love in some most unusual ways.

~~~~~~~~

The town walls were an excellent place for quiet contemplation and already Wepizi’s soldiers were, in just two weeks, used to his eccentricity. He barely excited more than a glance after the regulation salutes as he climbed up and found his favourite perch behind the palisades. It was a cloudy night, but hardly cold, and it was pleasant looking back down over the city, with the small points of light here and there, candles in windows, people walking with lamps, all lawfully and peacefully going about their business. But it wasn’t the citizens of Dizeindo occupying his thoughts tonight. He wanted this quiet time to talk to Lema about the surprising development of the morning, and what it had revealed about their most puzzling and confusing prince governor. What’s going on, my beloved? I’ve really failed in charity, haven’t I? Made a judgement based on hearsay and limited interaction, and condemned the man unfairly. I would have taken more time getting to know the least of my soldiers, than I have for this man. So...what do I do now? Neime wants me to be his friend—but a charity friend is hardly worthy of anyone. But perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t just something Prince Juimei needed. It was different for him now, being top of the hierarchy. Before, he had officers of the same rank as him around him. His fellow leps had been good friends in Tsikiugui, and their families had welcomed him and been so very kind when Lema died. But here...he was a stranger, without peers. His junior officers were pleasant people, good soldiers—but there would always be that barrier of inequality between them which made true honesty, true relaxation impossible. It hadn’t really hit him until today, how lonely it could be at the top of the pile, and he envied the prince with his loyal, intelligent companion forever at his side. Almost like a marriage, I suppose. He wondered what Neime got out of it. If he wasn’t in love with his master, he had given up his chance of a normal married family life to be an attendant on an ill-tempered, disabled prince. Unless he had some ulterior motive, it was selflessness well above the call of duty. But his prince appreciated the sacrifice, at least. That gratitude counted greatly in his highness’s favour. A recognition of fault, of debt, of honour—it meant the man was far from irredeemable. If only he wasn’t so crotchety and capricious, there would be much to like. Ah, Lema—does this duty lie upon me? To make a friend out of him, because he needs it, or because I do? Tell me what to do, beloved. He let the silence of the night fill him, so he could listen to the spirit of his dear wife, who was always with him. Sometimes, he could almost feel her arms around him again, feel her breath against his ear—sometimes. Other times, she seemed so far away. At those times, he felt very alone indeed. Would he be granted the grace of feeling her with him tonight? He closed his eyes. Lema, my dear one...let me feel you with me? I need your wisdom. And then, gentle as a night breeze, as warm as autumn sun, he felt her mind brush his. What should I do, Lema?

No answer, but still he could hear her advice clear as if she stood there with him. “Give it time,” she would say. “Let him find a way out of his pain.” Which was what he had to do, and he knew it. The ache never left him, and when he felt so close to her, yet knowing he couldn’t touch her, it drove him almost to despair with the pain of it. I miss you, Lema. Blessed god, how I miss you. One day, I’ll be with you again. But that would not be for a very long time. The empty years ahead yawned, and at times like this, he didn’t know how he would ever get through them. He opened his eyes, and found his cheeks cooling where tears had fallen. He hadn’t even felt them before. “Always remember you, Lema. I’ll always love you. To the day I die and beyond.” Only the silence of the night greeted him. Would he really find an end to his pain one day? Would he have to forget Lema to do that, or was there a way to get past his grief while still holding onto the love? He had no idea. But while he lived, while he waited to be reunited with her, he had to be true to the beliefs they both held, the faith that had been her life-long comfort and his too. Prince Juimei was reaching out to him, however clumsily, and somehow, Wepizi had to find it within him to respond with kindness and friendship. He just wished the man had better manners—it would make it so much easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 10 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei felt rather odd as he left the barracks. He was relieved he had made this apology—it had been on his conscience, and not just because he had come so close to losing Neime over it. He felt...elated, almost, to have been able to directly change something for the good, to have it in his power so firmly to make this decision which would benefit this region in years to come. But it was also a reminder of his impotence, that real change, really important decisions, could not be made unless he decided to become a rogue and disregard the authority of Visiqe—which he would not do just to boost his own ego, because it would harm too many people. It also reminded him there could be no real connection between him and the people he governed, even those of high rank, like this tezrei—whose eyes were kind, Neime was right, even though that moustache distracted him every time he looked at him. Even though isolation was what he craved, what he needed...sometimes it got rather lonely, even with Neime constantly at his side. The spring added a little beauty to this dull town. In nearly four years, he had rarely left the governor’s residence, but there had been little incentive to do so. He missed Visiqe, the mountains and the liveliness. Admittedly, Dizeindo might not be so bad if he’d had the ability to explore it, but he hadn’t. So many of the pursuits he’d loved were denied him now, and though he liked to read, and his work kept him occupied, he missed hunting, doig-ito, sparring with his sword master, even the dances at the feasts in the palace. He wouldn’t go to feasts here—the pain of watching people enjoy the music and move with an ease forever beyond his ability, was more torture than he had courage to face. If he’d been less fit and agile before, it wouldn’t be so bad now—if he’d been older, or had enjoyed the physical pleasures less—but the contrast only got more unbearable as the years passed, and his glory days further and further beyond his ability to recover them. He flexed his weak leg. Some days he thought it was a little better—but if he was tired, it refused to obey him at all. He was tired today—he’d slept so badly, yet again. He might even have to resort to some of the soporific tea the healer had once or twice prescribed to him, though he hated the thick-headedness it left him with. What he really needed was physical exercise—and that, he simply couldn’t get. Neime was in their office, and tried to look unconcerned. “Did it go well?” “Well enough. He’s accepted my apology, so we’re no longer at war.” So far as Neime was concerned, that was what Juimei’s visit had been about, and he wasn’t about to enlighten him. “Good work, your highness. I’m proud of you.”

Juimei smiled—the simple praise meant so much to him. “I would have you always feel that way. Now, what’s on the agenda today?” Neime showed him the letters and requests—nothing much out of the way, except.... He held up a note from the senior teacher of the public school. “What’s this?” “What does it look like? An invitation to give prizes.” “Tell them no, of course. Why have you put it before me? I always decline.” He went to shove it away, but found Neime’s hand preventing him. “Wait—don’t you think...perhaps...it’s time you said ‘yes’?” He frowned, genuinely confused. “Whatever for?” “Because...you’re the ruler. You’re also royalty. Some of those children might end up working for his majesty. I decided I wanted to work in Visiqe after your brother made a visit to our tribe—he made quite an impression.” “Which I would not. No.” “Please?” He sat back in his chair. “Why?” “Because you should. Because you’re tired of living like this, you said so yourself. It’s a chance to meet people in an unthreatening manner.” Juimei snorted, already pulling other more important documents towards him. “I’ll frighten the children—or they’ll laugh at the way I talk. No.” “You really think you’re grotesque, don’t you? Mayor Gixiel has a squint and a wart on his nose. Elder Havime stutters. What about them?” “They’re old men, Neime. People expect that in older people. They also grew up here—I’m a stranger.” “Only because you want to be. Please?” “Or you’ll walk out, is that it?” Neime shook his head pityingly. “Of course not. But why don’t you try? Just once?” “Neime...blessed god, don’t give me those eyes...all right! Stop it, damn it!” His page grinned. “You’re a nag, you know that?” “For your own good.” “Hmph. But on one condition—you convince our moustachioed tezrei to go too. Such a splendid specimen will impress the children, and the man who goes with it probably won’t induce nightmares. I don’t see why I should have to put up with that fool Gixiel on my own.” He thought that might put Neime off, but the grin only got wider. “I think that’s a wonderful idea—now all I have to do is get some prizes together. Books, I think—out of the official budget or your private funds?” “You should pay for it, since it’s your idea.”

“Um...if you insist—” “I’m joking.” He had to think how best to arrange this, since he might have just entailed his allowance for the next ten years. “Uh...draw it from my private account, and I’ll shuffle things around. But nothing extravagant, please. I don’t want to set a precedent.” “Of course not, your highness.” His page was getting a ridiculous amount of pleasure from this, and though it was likely to be tedious and embarrassing, it was nice to see Neime grin. Juimei felt guilty at how few opportunities he had given his friend to feel so happy. “Well, if that’s all, we have real work to do. Uh...um.” “Juimei?” “Uh...the tezrei might be inviting me...us...to lunch soon. To meet the architect and engineer.” “That’ll be nice. Well done,” he added—and Juimei thought it worth any amount of annoyance to see that look of approval in Neime’s eyes again. He had so little pleasure in his life —if he could give some to Neime at least, then maybe things weren’t so dry and dull as they might be. True to his word—and why Juimei should have been surprised the promise was actually kept, he didn’t know—Wepizi sent word that a boardwalk had been laid to facilitate the passage of barrows and pedestrians around the building site. He said he thought, with care, his highness would find it easier to walk there now. Juimei appreciated the tact—if tact it be—in making him feel the arrangements weren’t just for him. They probably weren’t—the tezrei struck him as the kind of man who wouldn’t indulge a person without a point to it. Astonishing how much they had achieved in so short a time—it was quite transformed, though it still didn’t look much like a new barracks and city wall. Men and women were everywhere, operating small cranes, directing the removal of earth and the addition of rocks. Posts were lifted and carried and inserted all over the place, the noise of hammers and drills, the yelling of incomprehensible commands, quite deafening. The dust of dirt and concrete being mixed, made him cough like an old man with lung fever until Wepizi led them away from the worst of it. His ears continued to ring for some time though, and he could still taste mortar powder even after one of the soldiers kindly brought him a mug of water to soothe his throat. He could make no sense of it at first. It looked chaotic to him, unused as he was to this kind of extensive construction—one never saw it on this scale in a place as old as Visiqe. The tezrei seemed quite unperturbed as he patiently explained the process of laying the foundations, the difficulty they’d encountered in certain areas and how they’d overcome it, and how long this phase would last. He managed to make it so engrossing that Juimei quite forgot to see if people were staring at him, and when he remembered at last, no one was—of course, people had better things to do, he imagined. The wooden planks laid down as a temporary pavement, made his progress much easier—he didn’t even need Neime’s help, which improved his temper

considerably. From here, he could see out into the countryside, towards the plains of the south, the woods and farms—towards freedom, or the illusion of it. “Your highness? Is something wrong?” He turned to the tezrei. “Just thinking how nice it would be to see more of the region before it got cold again.” The tezrei smiled. “I was thinking the same myself only last night. Perhaps we should get a party up, make a small expedition to explore.” “I think not,” Juimei said slightly, frostily, banging his cane a little against the board walk. “I can’t ride.” “There are other ways of transporting a person, your highness. On the mission with the Darshianese, we had two people injured by a tewi—we had to haul them back nearly all the way from Mount Arzha to Visiqe on travois. Now that was awkward, I can tell you.” “Poor bastards,” he said with a shudder. “Did they survive?” “Oh yes,” he said with a smile. “And they were very brave about it, though it was most uncomfortable. I’m sure we could arrange something far better for you, should you wish it.” “Perhaps,” he said, keeping his voice neutral because Neime was watching him closely. “And the thermal pipes are going here, is that correct? What about rain water collection?” It gave him a slight jolt to realise, as they walked back to the doig-trap to return to the barracks, that this was the longest conversation he’d had with another person other than Neime in almost four years. And in the entire run of it, he’d hardly thought of his physical problems at all —they’d been mentioned, but they had caused him not a whit of embarrassment or concern, or been the focus of anyone’s attention in particular. For that time, he had been nothing but the governor, pure and simple—spoken to as someone whose opinion mattered, whose assessment was useful. For the first time since his injury, he’d actually felt like a normal member of the society. He’d forgotten what that was like. It felt good. Dangerously good. Neime gave him a smile as they settled in the trap, the tall tezrei on a doig behind them, even though he’d probably arrived on foot. “It’s all fascinating, don’t you find it, your highness?” “Moderately,” he said quellingly, but Neime’s smile didn’t dim in the least. Knowing little brat. They were back at the old barracks in minutes, and there, Wepizi helped him down from the trap with impeccable courtesy. He apologised in advance for the ordinary fare they were about to receive. “I felt your highness wouldn’t want any fuss made.” “Quite right. I don’t want to interfere with your work any more than strictly necessary, tezrei.”

The man bowed a little. “Your highness, it gives my people a boost to have the governor and his majesty’s son take an interest in their endeavours.” Juimei glanced at Neime, wearing a rather smug ‘I-told-you-so’ expression. He cleared his throat. “Well. Just glad to be progressing it, even in this small way, tezrei.” The tezrei led them to what he said was the senior officer’s mess—smaller than what Juimei remembered of the same section in the main army barracks in Visiqe, and rather shabby too. It was clean, but the paintwork needed redoing, there was damage to the door, and nothing brightened the gloomy interior, not even the smallest map or drawing. The mess in Visiqe had been much smarter, proudly sporting large paintings, banners of victories, important or otherwise, and other emblems of a busy soldiering existence. “I hadn’t realised how run down this was. Why don’t the soldiers maintain it better, tezrei?” The tezrei gave him a wry smile. “I can’t speak for the previous authorities, your highness, but I do know that if there’s a choice between getting out and doing our job, and decorating our quarters, all the soldiers I’ve ever worked with would choose the job, every time.” “Your highness,” Neime said, “the establishment here is spread very thin. They’re not given a lot of time to work on domestic matters, I imagine.” “Still...it’s important, in our climate—where we spend so much time indoors,” he clarified. “Tezrei, this is something which should be looked at when you complete the new building. Something could be arranged with the staff at my residence, perhaps.” It surely would cost very little to put a painting or two up, or add curtains or something—anything to cover the bare wood and stone. It was depressing. “It’s an idea, certainly. One which will be welcome. Please do come and sit, your highness.” There were more people in attendance than he was comfortable with, but he wouldn’t back out now, so he plastered a smile on his face and nodded politely as he was introduced to the tezrei’s subordinates—his leps, jirens, the engineers and the architect. He said hello to lep Tovoi and asked him how he was finding it with all the new soldiers around—the attention startled the man a little. Ah—well, only to be expected. He insisted lunch should be as informal as possible, and that conversation should not be inhibited by his presence. After an initial awkwardness, the tezrei took the lead and then things settled into a more natural rhythm. The soldiers were very comfortable with each other, and the tezrei was clearly popular. In his own ‘house’, so to speak, he was much more relaxed than he’d been at lunch in the governor’s residence. Of course, Juimei apologising for his offensive remark probably eased things too. It had been a stupid, cruel thing to say and the only excuse Juimei had had was that he’d not seen the man as a person in his own right, just another demand on his time and one who bore a passing resemblance to his faithless former lover. Which was no damn excuse at all, and he knew it.

But the more he looked, and certainly the more he listened, that resemblance disappeared. Wepizi was older than Miki, taller, thinner, and he smiled and laughed in a completely different way. Miki had been sardonic—to be frank, rather sarcastic most of the time, which was fine and amusing as long as one wasn’t the target. This officer was a much kinder man, gentle in his humour and his comments, and his people responded to him with affection. Juimei felt a twinge of jealousy that this man could have been here for so short a time, and yet clearly commanded much greater loyalty and liking than Juimei had in four years. Not that Juimei wasn’t well aware of why there was such a difference. I was once like you, my friend. I was popular, admired, and people listened to me. But he couldn’t, with justice, say this tezrei had led a charmed life which had preserved his ability to be friendly. Juimei wanted to know more about this man’s wife—when had she died, and of what? He didn’t have children, that much was certain, since he lived in the barracks. Annoying. Everyone could tell his weaknesses by looking at him—he didn’t have privacy. But other people could hide their pain—it wasn’t fair. “Your highness?” “Uh...sorry, Neime, I was lost in thought. What is it?” “I was just asking Wepizi about the prize-giving, and he wanted to know if you two should arrive together and if they should bring any other soldiers.” “Oh.” He hastily rearranged his thoughts. “Together would be more...impressive, I suppose. Do any of you have children at the school?” One of the jirens raised his hand. “I do, your highness. My daughter’s finishing this year.” “Congratulations. What’s your thought on how we should do this?” The man looked surprised. “Uh, well, your highness—the children do like to see us marching in formation, that kind of thing.” “Then perhaps a small squad in best-uniforms? Marching up behind my vehicle to the town square? That would be considered something?” “Oh yes, your highness. I think it would tickle them no end.” “Then arrange that, please, tezrei.” The tezrei nodded, smiling. “It should be most enjoyable, your highness.” “Hmpf. Well, one hopes so. Tezrei, I really should be getting back, and I’m sure your people have better things to do.” “Other things, your highness—not necessarily better. I’m sure I speak for us all when I say it’s been an honour and a pleasure.” Sephiz’s beard—he actually means that. “Uh...thank you, tezrei. Neime?” Everyone rose and bowed politely—the tezrei accompanied them out to the doig-trap. “May I hope you will find time to visit again, your highness?”

“Don’t you find this all a damn nuisance, tezrei?” The man’s eyes crinkled up in a real smile. “No, of course not. Your input’s valuable, and it was a most enjoyable meal. It’s important when we’re so isolated here, to feel we’re all pulling together in the service of the state. It never hurts soldiers to be reminded that we work for the king and council, and to have access to their representative. Unless of course, it’s inconvenient for you—I’d understand that.” Juimei cleared his throat as Neime carefully didn’t look at him. “Uh, no...I think I can find time to fit it into my busy schedule. However, I expect reports to continue to be delivered, tezrei.” The man bowed. “Of course, your highness. I’ll bring them myself. I can keep you up to date.” “Whatever suits. If not before, I shall see you at this blas...uh, I mean, this prize giving next week. I hope the children appreciate it.” “I’m sure they will. Good day, your highness, Neime.” Neime gave the order for the driver to move off, then sat back. Juimei turned and gave him a stern look. “And when did you and the tezrei get onto first name basis, hmmm?” “You were there—he said to call him Wepizi. Sephiz’s beard, you really were distracted. He’s nice, don’t you think?” “Hmmm, pleasant enough. You should preserve the dignity of my office, and call him tezrei.” Neime rolled his eyes. “Your highness, you’ve got enough dignity for both of us. You enjoyed yourself—admit it.” “No.” “Why ever not?” “Because it annoys you.” Neime grinned. “You’re hopeless, your highness. You know, you smiled more over lunch than you have in the last year.” “I was just being polite.” “You were being more polite than you have been over the last year, your highness.” “Don’t be impertinent or you can walk back.” “Yes, your highness.” Brat of a boy. But even as he did, a smile found its disobedient way back onto his lips. He was out of practice. Maybe he’d better get some in, unless he wanted to frighten the children next week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 11 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Are you a magician?” Tovoi asked as Wepizi came back to their office. “He was actually polite to me. He even remembered my name!” “Yes, I confess I was surprised too. Sephiz must have decided to bless him—or us,” Wepizi said with a smile. “He’s not too bad once you get past the gruffness. I think I can work with him.” “If you’d said that a week ago, I’d have called you mad. But now....” He shook his head. “Maybe he’s learned manners.” “Or remembered those he had. But now, we need to get back to work. We’re ahead, but if we get rain in the next two weeks, it’ll be a problem.” He didn’t mention their prince again, because he didn’t want to encourage personal speculation about their superior, but that didn’t stop him wondering why the sudden thaw had occurred. He suspected Neime had a hand in it—the lad was so good-hearted, and loved his prince so well, that it was most likely he was gently persuading his master to unbend. And may Sephiz bless your efforts. It looked like this posting would be a lot more pleasant than he’d feared. Their luck deserted them briefly, since they had to down tools during three days of rain, but such delays had been planned for, and did not present a setback. The rain filled the barracks’ cisterns which was good, though it made the worksite treacherous and the trenches miserable places to work in until they were drained. Spirits were high though, and labour resumed as fast as they could get back onto the site. They were back on schedule within two days. All of this he put into his report, to take up to the governor’s residence himself. Not necessary, he knew—but he wanted to encourage the thaw, and besides...he was intrigued. Their prince was so contradictory, sometimes presenting a repellent, charmless façade, and at other times, seeming rather vulnerable and likeable. Wepizi didn’t know which was the reality—and since he had to work with him for years to come, it would repay getting to know the man better. Neime smiled as he came into the foyer. “Nice to see you again, Wepizi. Did the rain cause you a lot of problems?” “Not too many, and we need the rain too. How are you, my friend?” “Fine—always busy. His highness, uh...wondered, if you turned up close to lunch, you might like to join him. If it’s convenient.” “Of course—it would be a pleasure.” To tell the truth, he’d chosen this time of day to arrive, just to see what would happen—he hadn’t been disappointed. Someone’s manners were improving.

Neime beamed at him. “Wonderful. Come along then.” The prince rose to greet him as Neime led him into the office. “Good morning, tezrei. I hope this isn’t troublesome for you?” “Not in the least, your highness,” he said, bowing. “Your highness,” Neime broke in to say, “Wepizi says he can stay for lunch. Why don’t I go and organise that, and then I have to meet with the treasurer.” “Now? Oh...yes, all right. Sorry you can’t join us, Neime. You’re more than welcome to.” His assistant wasn’t taking the broad hint. “Oh, Wepizi can look after things, and there’s no point us all being tied up. I’ll see you soon, Wepizi.” Wepizi bowed again, and Neime left the room. Not very subtle, he thought, hiding his smile behind his hand. Then he brought his documents over to the prince. “Everything’s laid out there, your highness,” he said, handing them across the desk. “Thank you. Please sit.” Wepizi did so, and the prince took his seat as well, unrolling the report as he did so. “That was a good deal of rain we had—there was flooding a mile below the town, so I heard.” “Yes—near the lock weir. We’re attending to it. I could arrange for you to inspect the site, if you want.” The prince’s head lifted. “Me?” He coughed. “Uh...tezrei, you seem to forget....” “Your highness, please, call me Wepizi. And no, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve made enquiries and we have several very quiet, well-trained doigs which you could easily control with a single hand. I knew a man in Tsikiugui who had lost an arm and he still could ride well enough.” “It’s not my arm so much as my leg, tezrei...Wepizi. I have little strength on that side. I couldn’t afford a second fall—not after the first one was so devastating.” “No, indeed. I heard it was an ito match—did you fall from a doig? That was how you were hurt?” The prince shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Not the fall so much as the two kicks to the head I got from the other mounts. I’m told I was lucky not to have died.” He didn’t sound all that pleased that he hadn’t. “Fortunate, yes, though I’m sorry it’s left you disabled.” The blunt use of the word got him a hard look, which he ignored—he didn’t believe in pretending things weren’t as they were. “Your highness—” “Juimei. My, uh...friends...call me Juimei. Or Jui. You may use which you like.” Wepizi bowed his head. “‘Jui’ is felicitous, since it’s an archaic word for ‘strength’ in Darshianese.” The prince sat up, looking rather startled. “Is it? I don’t really speak the language—you do?”

“Yes—I learned through the army’s training, and have had plenty of chance to use it. It’s not the easiest tongue to learn though, with all the tones.” “It sounds rather sing-song to me. I have no facility with languages, I’m afraid. With this,” he gestured at his mouth, “I’m lucky to be able to speak Andonese.” “You’re perfectly clear, Jui.” It was odd to use the man’s pet name like this, but Wepizi could hardly ask him to use his own name, and continue to insist on a title. “Ah, what I was about to say was—learning to ride again, even with your injury, wouldn’t be impossible. It sounds as if it’d improve the quality of your life a great deal.” The prince looked away, up towards the window, his mouth set in a tight line. “I...don’t like being stared at. People do, you know. And they snigger at the way I talk. Children mock how I limp. It’s...painful beyond words. I used to be...I was the doig-ito champion, in Visiqe. Royal team captain. There was very little beyond my ability—now, I’m grateful to walk at all. It’s humiliating that...uh...people see the wreck I’ve become. Forgive me for imposing these personal thoughts on you.” “Not at all. I know this all must be a terrible trial for you...and yet...if you had a friend who was in a similar situation, and was not doing something that would be important to them, just because of the opinion of foolish strangers...what would you tell them to do?” “Ignore them and get on with it, I suppose. Different when I’m the one being stared at.” “Yes, it must be.” “I don’t want to talk about this. I’m sorry.” “As you wish.” Conversation moved to the upcoming school visit. A squad had been selected, and it had been agreed with the senior teacher that they would give a short demonstration of formation marching and sword work in the town square before the attending officials and audience. There could be as many as two hundred people there, including the mayor and elders, and it was an opportunity for Wepizi to introduce himself as well. “Should impress the little bastards,” the prince muttered. “You’re not a father, are you?” “No, that blessing wasn’t granted to me.” He smiled politely as he said it. “Nor you, I take it.” “Never been married. I...uh...nearly life-bonded with someone once, though.” “Someone...with a moustache?” “Yes.” Suddenly, much was clear. “Ah. And someone who...?” “Someone who cast me aside when I was injured, as unwanted goods, tezrei. Have I humiliated myself enough for you now?”

The fierce scowl could not conceal the wounded look in the man’s eyes. “To be unlucky in love, your highness, isn’t a humiliation any more than to be injured. It’s just one of the things that happens in life.” “Like losing a spouse?” Wepizi’s smile tightened. “Yes, like that.” “You still hold it against me, don’t you. What I said—even though I apologised.” He sighed. “Can’t blame you. It was repulsive of me.” “It’s not that.” He tried to loosen the muscles in his face, take the tension out of his voice. “I...find it very hard to talk about her to people who didn’t know her.” The prince looked at him then, staring hard at him, though without any apparent anger. “So...she’s your disability, in a way.” “Yes, I suppose she is. Like you, I have to find a way to live with it, because it’s not going away. But what I will tell you, is that it’s possible to live with such pain. The benevolent god asks no more than we can bear—and if he has given you this burden, he must believe you’re strong, stronger than most people.” “Rot,” the prince said with a derisive snort. “The benevolent god abandoned me a long time ago. There’s no benevolence about taking a healthy, happy young man and ruining his life. Or killing your wife, or any of the other misfortunes and tragedies. Sephiz is a tyrant. I refuse to acknowledge his dominion over me.” Wepizi blinked, shocked to his core for the second time while sitting in this office. He started to speak, then realised there was no argument he could muster. Where there was so little faith and trust, there was nothing to add. “I’ve horrified you, haven’t I?” Juimei said, his mouth twisting wryly. “I’m sorry for that. But I won’t be a hypocrite and say words I don’t believe.” “No, that would be a sin,” Wepizi murmured, still trying to collect himself. “I regret you’re without the comfort of your belief, that’s all.” “A great many things were taken from me—that was just one of them. If you’re offended by my blasphemy, I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave.” “Your beliefs don’t offend me—they sadden me, but I’m used to the company of those who don’t share my faith. Some of my dearest friends are Darshianese, and as you know, they barely have a religion worth the name.” “Ah, yes. I wonder which is stranger—their gods without power, or the Prij with those capricious ones they worship. I don’t know how they keep them all straight.” Lunch arrived then, the same simple menu as before, and it was left to Wepizi to manage the dishes and plates. The prince, he noted, had a poor appetite, something that might be improved with more opportunities for physical exercise. He was already thinking of ways to get around his highness’s physical limitations, as well as his need for privacy—it had to be possible. But the

prince’s mind was still on their conversation about Sephiz. Rather to Wepizi’s surprise, he spoke about the comparative religions of Andon, Darshian and Kuprij, a subject on which, apparently, he had a good deal of interest. Though he didn’t speak Darshianese or Prijian, Juimei was wellinformed, even rather scholarly in his knowledge—certainly he knew more about the Prijian religion than Wepizi did, and his dry comments about this or that god and their supposed powers, startled Wepizi into laughter several times. He was still chuckling over the last acid remark when Neime came in and did a double-take to see them like that. “Ah, Neime, we were just finishing.” Neime came over to the table they were using, and pulled up a chair. “Looks like I missed all the fun.” “His highness—” “Jui,” the prince corrected sternly, though smiling a little. Neime’s eyes widened, and Wepizi rather thought his highness enjoyed the surprise. “Jui,” he amended, “has been telling me how the world is basically a lump of urs beast dung rolled into a ball and given life by the breath of Lord Niko. Which must come as a dreadful shock to Sephiz.” “Do you suppose the gods get into fist fights?” Neime said, grinning. “No need—Sephiz would win, and the others don’t exist anyway,” Wepizi said calmly, which made Juimei snort in disgust. “Where did you learn all this, and why, Jui?” The prince sat back in his chair, holding his mug of drizu. “Had a tutor when I was a lad, who’d lived on Kuprij for a bit—this was before the war with the Darshianese, of course. Even before the first invasion—before they got too big for their boots. He knew a lot about their culture—he tried to teach me Prijian but damned if I could pick it up. I can read it, a little, but speaking it—impossible. He taught me about their gods and their history, and then I learned more about Darshian from another tutor I had, though he didn’t last as long. You get information from all sorts of places, living in the palace.” “Like the army—we meet people who’ve travelled all over Periter, and you pick up facts from being around them.” “Not a dissimilar process, I imagine.” He seemed to realise he’d relaxed quite a lot in front of a subordinate, and became self-conscious again. “Uh...Neime...the tezrei will want to be getting back to his barracks. Wepizi, thank you for coming—a most informative and interesting conversation.” “Yes, for me also. So you’ll come to the barracks at ten and we’ll depart from there?” “Yes, yes, whatever’s the least trouble. Neime?” Wepizi bowed again, and followed Neime out. The man stopped him on the steps of the residence. “You made him laugh,” he said in an awed tone. “He made me laugh, actually. It was most enjoyable.”

Neime shook his head. “You don’t understand—I’ve heard him laugh three times in four years. And never with anyone else, and never like that. You made him laugh.” He smiled, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. “I will be forever in your debt.” “No need to be, my friend. Neime—I think I can teach him to ride again, if he’ll permit it. Right now, he won’t.” “I’ll work on him, if you think it’s truly possible—is it? It’d be a miracle if he could. He wants it so badly, but I don’t think he dares try. You can’t blame him.” “I don’t, and yes, I do think it’s possible. Let me put my mind to it.” Neime smiled, looking far younger than he’d done since Wepizi first met him. Certainly less worried and stressed. “Sephiz sent you—I know he sent you. He’s done so much more in this last month than he’s done in years—and he’s agreed to go to the school prize-giving. I’ve been trying to get him to do that since he arrived.” “He’s healing. Time will do that. Your friendship too—I can’t take any credit, not in such a short time.” “Maybe. But I’m still grateful. I just hope this school thing goes well. I’ll strangle any child that laughs at him, truly I will.” “Ah,” Wepizi said thoughtfully, stroking his moustache. “Would you like me to have a quiet word with the senior teacher? Or Jiren Heininke can, perhaps—he’s the one with the daughter there. I’m sure the teacher would be sympathetic.” “If you think it would help, please do. It would be a disaster if he was humiliated by the experience.” “No, not a disaster,” he said firmly. “Upsetting, yes—but you and I can help him keep it in perspective. Don’t worry about it. Now, I really have to go.” “Thank you. Sephiz bless you, Wepizi.” “He already has,” he said with a smile, then raised his hand in farewell. He had a lot to think about as he rode back to the barracks. Truly, their governor was a curious creature. One who might be well worth studying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 12 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The day of the prize-giving dawned bright and clear, and the fact he could not plead the weather, increased Juimei’s sense of dread. Only knowing how much it would disappoint Neime, prevented him using a very real headache as an excuse for getting out of this nonsense. The more he’d thought about it, the more nervous and reluctant he’d become—the potential for humiliation was enormous, considering who would be there, and he was certain the children would find him a disappointment. The previous governor, Count Fiezenai, had been a great tewi of a man, majestic and imposing, with a twinkle in his eyes and a ready hand for everyone. The staff at the residence still spoke of him with respect and affection, and he was much missed, still deeply mourned after his death the previous year. Juimei was little more than a pale shadow of his predecessor, and the only time he’d been presented to a large section of the population—at his inauguration four years ago—he’d seen the surprise and disapproval when the grand prince the people had been expecting turned out to be this pathetic, limping creature with the peculiar voice. Even now his stomach knotted up in memory of that occasion, and he wondered again, despairingly, why he had agreed to this business at all. It had been a momentary weakness, and one he would have leisure to regret. Neime seemed oblivious to his mood, and went about the business of selecting an appropriate outfit for the ceremony, as if it made a damn bit of difference what he wore. “Something bright, I think, for the spring. The blue suits you well.” “No one will be looking at me when the moustache arrives.” “I think you’re exaggerating,” Neime said severely. “I’ve known bigger.” “Any bigger and he’d need a wheelbarrow to carry it around in.” Neime chuckled. “I don’t want to do this.” “You surprise me, your highness. Here I was thinking those miserable looks were because you didn’t like the blue overshirt.” “Brat. It’ll be a disaster.” “No, it won’t.” Neime pulled the selected clothes out of the wardrobe and then closed the door. “It could go badly, certainly—any occasion can. If it goes badly, so what? Gimoz told me Count Fiezenai let out an enormous fart at the prize-giving a few years ago, just as the mayor got up to speak. His honour was very pleased, you can imagine, but Fiezenai just laughed, and so did the audience. No one held it against him.”

Considering the count’s personality, people were probably as amused by his great belly laugh at his gaffe as the fart itself. The man’s laugh could have shaken a mountain. “Fiezenai was popular. If I farted, that would be different.” “Doubt it—these things are deadly dull unless you’re the child or a parent. People like something to distract themselves. But it’s not something they resent—it’s just something they remember.” “I don’t want to be remembered for my damn lisp!” Neime sighed, coming over and putting his hand on Juimei’s shoulder. “You really don’t lisp. Your voice has improved a lot over the years, you just don’t hear it. You just have to make sure people pay attention to your words instead. You’ve written a lovely speech. It’s funny and interesting. That’s what they’ll remember.” “Maybe. I’d better get dressed, I suppose.” They took the doig-trap down the barracks, travelling discreetly—on the way back, he’d be in the beautiful official carriage. It would be a treat for Neime, he supposed—and the stablemaster was pleased he was making use of the carriage after all this time. It really was a fine example of the wainwright’s craft—paid for by the count, of course. The governor’s budget had no room for such luxuries, but Count Fiezenai had been wealthy in his own right. So was Juimei, in theory and in a smaller fashion, but his money was all held in Visiqe. He had no private estates as the count had had. He could buy land, build a house here, if he intended to settle down in the region, but that would mean admitting his exile was permanent. It most likely was, and an estate was something he could pass to Neime in his turn—but part of him still had the dim dream of returning to Visiqe and being part of the centre of power once more. Would never happen, he knew. Maybe he would look into buying an estate once the barracks expansion was completed. It was time to accept the reality of his existence, and that things were really never going to change. It was a beautiful day with no hint of the rain which had drenched them the previous week. They drove quickly past the square, being set up for the ceremony. His heart sank as he saw all the chairs and the podium being decked with flowers. If he didn’t trip, it would be a miracle. “Your highness, please, calm down.” Neime’s eyes were kind and wise as always. “You’ll have Wepizi with you, and he knows how difficult this will be. We’ll both be there.” “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Juimei said gruffly. “Not much of a life for you, is it?” “It’s a very good life, and the only thing that would improve it would be knowing you were happier. Now, practice smiling for me, like a good little governor.” His mouth quirked at his page’s cheekiness. I take myself too seriously. Their moustache-bearing tezrei was in immaculate best-uniform, a tall, slim figure in smart black and yellow sash, the terrifying facial hair combed and waxed to perfection, and looking nearly as sharp as his dress sword. He smiled warmly as Juimei was helped out of the doig-trap.

“Welcome, your highness, Neime. Everything’s in readiness—I wondered if you would like to inspect the soldiers before we left?” Inspections—ah, yes, something his father used to do in Visiqe. “That would be in order, tezrei. Lead the way.” Thirty soldiers had been selected as a suitable complement, but there were at least fifty others also arrayed for inspection, though not in best-uniforms. The three leps and five of the ten jirens were also there. Juimei did his best to imitate his father’s regal manner—well, as best he could with a limp and a cane. It was, he had to admit, an impressive display, and he said so. “Very good, soldiers. A credit to the king and council. Tezrei, have those not coming with us stand down.” The order was smartly given, and after an impeccably executed mass salute, the nonessential soldiers were dismissed. “Excellent display, Tezrei. You and your officers are to be complimented.” The junior officers grinned at that—amazing his praise meant anything at all to them. “Is everything ready for us?” “Just bringing your carriage around now, your highness.” Wepizi signalled to one of the jirens, who whistled an order, and shortly afterwards, the carriage was led into the courtyard. It was as impressive as Juimei remembered it. Even the usually scruffy-looking doigs gained some elegance from the bright metal-chased harnesses and feathered head pieces, their shaggy coats combed into a semblance of tidiness. Wepizi solemnly inspected the vehicle, and then took the reins from his soldier. “At your convenience, your highness,” he said, bowing. They didn’t make a bad picture once the three of them were seated. Whatever people thought of him, the carriage looked appropriately vice-regal, at least, and the tezrei would make anyone look important, sitting next to them. His dress sword was unusually fine, Juimei noted. “Is that standard issue, Tezrei?” “This? Not exactly, though within regulations. A gift for when I made lep. From my wife,” he added. Juimei knew better than to make any comment on that fact. “It’s very well-made,” he said briefly, and won a polite nod. Neime just smiled at them both. The soldiers marched ahead, led by a jiren, sword held out in front of him, and the stamp of perfectly coordinated feet and the shouted commands drew people out on the street to admire and stare. Juimei kept a fixed smile on his face, and after Neime whispered a hint, remembered to wave a little too. He even got the odd cheer here and there, which surprised him. “People don’t have much to do, do they?” he muttered to his page. “Nonsense, they’re impressed. Wouldn’t you say, Wepizi?” “Certainly. It adds a little colour and drama to their lives, so it’s a good thing. It’s part of the role of leader, to inspire and entertain.”

“If I’d wanted to entertain, tezrei, I’d have gone into the theatre.” “I’m sure you’d have been a great success, your highness,” he said, bowing politely, but the twinkle in his eye took away all offence and made Neime smile, so Juimei didn’t mind being the butt of the joke. The square was half full by the time they arrived—not just with the children, but their parents, siblings, teachers, and the mayor, elders and their spouses, all in their finest clothes. The stamp of the soldiers’ marching drew attention even from the busy market holders and their customers, and people came out from the shops on the square to watch. Neime had been right to insist on him making an effort, by the look of it. Normally the ceremony was held in the school grounds, but once Juimei had agreed to attend, and Wepizi’s soldiers arranged, it had been moved to the square—a fact which didn’t delight Juimei as it made him feel much more exposed, but was too late to change now. All he could do was make the most of it. He made himself smile as the carriage drew them close to the permanent stone dais, and the mayor and elders rose to greet him. He was startled as the crowd cheered—for a moment, it was like being back on the ito field, and he was briefly confused as to what he should do. But then Wepizi took his arm and helped him carefully from the carriage, Neime behind him—he waved to the crowd and smiled again, before being led, again with great care, up the steps and onto the dais. The mayor, all got up in his most regal robes and chains, bowed, his expression carefully blank. Juimei returned the gesture with an equally unreadable polite look. He’d never forgiven this man’s insult against his father, and he very much doubted the mayor would get over his reaction to that slander, but today was not an appropriate time to rake up old grudges. The mayor wore a deepest purple overshirt, and equally expensive dark red trousers, either of which would cost a labourer three months’ wages. Well, if you can afford the tax, sirrah, you can flaunt your wealth to those who might be impressed. But I’m not, most assuredly. The other elders, more modestly attired but still clearly having made an effort for the occasion, bowed as he moved towards the chair set aside for him. A woman stepped forward and introduced herself as the senior teacher. “Such an honour to have you here today, your highness.” “Thank you. Carry on, please—let me know when you want me to speak.” She bowed and let him sit. So far so good—he hadn’t tripped, at least. He grasped his cane tightly and tried not to seem as terrified as he felt, looking out over the sea of smiling faces. Sephiz’s beard, there were a lot more than two hundred people here—more like four hundred. The soldiers must have made them curious. The teacher welcomed everyone, and introduced their governor and their new tezrei, before announcing the soldiers would now demonstrate some of their marching and sword skills. The guests up on the podium had the best view of course, but even for the audience below, it must have been an enjoyable spectacle. This kind of display was very popular in Visiqe, and Juimei felt a fresh twinge of homesickness as he watched the immaculate drill, the elaborate patterns

formed by soldiers working in perfect harmony, and then, the mock sword fights which, though they looked quite alarming, were quite safe for these trained men and women. Neime was spellbound. Juimei smiled—all this was worth it if Neime was enjoying himself. And it was no bad thing, as Wepizi had said, to bring a little colour into people’s lives. As the sword display ended, the jiren marched the squad up to the podium—Juimei was expected to take a salute, so he got to his feet. “For king and council!” the jiren cried, the words immediately repeated in a united shout from the soldiers. The crowd joined in, and then applauded, applause which went on for some time. Juimei could only smile and bow, taking the salute on behalf of his father and the council, oddly touched by this united display of loyalty and patriotism. He opened his mouth to thank the soldiers—but stopped, frowning, as a dull roar rose in the east. A moment later, the podium, stone though it was, shook a little. Crashes and rattles, at first distant, then all around the square, travelled towards them like a wave. His mind went blank, unable to instantly understand the clues, but others were faster off the mark. “Earthquake!” someone yelled. People flung themselves to the ground. Wepizi grabbed him and pulled him flat as the podium—the whole square—started vibrating wildly. Children shrieked at deafening cracks and crashes—buildings rocking on their foundations, roofs collapsing. Steam hissed and whistled shockingly loud as thermal pipes cracked. Doigs screamed in terror, infants, crushed protectively tight to frightened mothers, wailed in protest, but through it all Wepizi’s arm remained tightly over Juimei’s head, protecting him. And someone—Neime—lay over his back, also guarding him. The podium rocked, rose and fell, like water, not solid stone, disorienting, nauseating. It would never end—Juimei had never been so terrified in his life, and only the protective grip Wepizi and Neime had on him, kept him from outright panic. His heart raced so fast, he wanted to be sick, and he didn’t know if he wanted to scream in raw fear or just run like hell. He was absolutely certain he was going to die. And still the weight of the two men anchored him, calmed him, as the shaking, the juddering, the sheer bloody noise went on and on. But even the worst earthquake could not last forever. The shaking stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving the square in deathly silence—no one moved, no one cried out. Everyone waited, as Juimei did, to see if it was truly over, and slightly stunned to find themselves still alive and in one piece. He lifted his head—and immediately saw the amount of damage even just around the square. Market stalls toppled, their wares spilled across the stone, the skyline transformed in moments as whole buildings had collapsed. His only comfort was that those nearest the square, at least, were mostly still standing.

Now the sounds began again—children crying, people reacting, and starting to run towards their homes. His thoughts clicked instantly into place, what he needed to do suddenly perfectly clear. He pushed at Neime to get off him, and cried, “Stop! Wepizi, make them stop! Help me up, now!” Wepizi, leaping up, shouted for his soldiers to make people stay in the square, then hauled Juimei to his feet. “People, listen to me! Everyone, stay where you are!” Juimei yelled. The audience were getting up, mothers hugging their crying children close, staring up at him with raw terror in their eyes. “We have to get back to the house! My mother’s there,” a man shouted, getting to his feet and starting to run off. A quick-thinking soldier jumped up and grabbed him, but if Juimei didn’t take control, there’d be a riot. “No, wait! Everyone, stay where you are!” “My mother!” “I know but if you go rushing in, you’ll be trapped too!” The man, struggling in the soldier’s grip, wasn’t persuaded, but there were more people than him to worry about. “Let’s do this properly. This is lep Wepizi, tezrei of this region. He and the army will coordinate all rescues, and I’m placing the town under my direct command, emergency rule, as of this moment.” The mayor was dusting himself off. “Your highness, I believe that I—” Juimei dismissed his words with a cutting motion of his hand. “I’m taking charge, Mayor— don’t argue with me. Right—everyone, come closer so you can hear me, I can’t speak any louder than this.” The soldiers repeated the command and herded people closer, and others, rushing to the square, were also directed closer to the podium. People from the market came closer, and in a few minutes, everyone was crowded close enough that he could reach them with his voice. “All right. I need all the fit adult men to come forward.” About thirty men immediately approached. “Any of you with medical experience? Anyone here at all?” A handful of men and women raised their hands. “All of you, remain here. Tezrei, I’m seconding all the others temporarily to your command.” “Very good, your highness.” “Wait a minute! We’ve got to check on our homes!” “We have to check on everyone’s homes, sir, but the army has to coordinate this, so we don’t end up with a bigger mess. Right—all the children over fourteen, come forward.” “Jui?” Neime asked in a low voice.

“I know what I’m doing,” he muttered as the children approached, rather warily. He raised his voice again. “Listen to me—we need people to carry messages. The army will need runners, I’ll need runners, and so will the infirmary. Who among you is willing to help?” Every child raised their hand, despite the muted protests of their parents. “Excellent—you make me proud of you. Right—Tezrei, you’re in charge of these as well, except....” He made a rapid reassessment, looking around the square. “Neime, take those with medical experience and five runners over to the infirmary. If it’s damaged, bring what you can out of the building and into the square here. Don’t take the children inside—use them for messages only. Go on!” “Yes, your highness.” Neime quickly selected the children he needed, and then he and the others ran across the square. The building looked all right from here, but there could be internal damage—he had to trust his page would have the sense to know to keep the children safe. “Tezrei, I need two soldiers, and those two need five runners.” Wepizi pointed at two of his people, who came forward. “Right—you’re my line of communication with my residence. Go up to the residence, find out if it’s secure, tell them to be ready to receive displaced and possibly injured people. Also warn the kitchens they will be needed for large-scale production. Market holders? Hands up?” A number of hands were raised. “Your fresh food supplies will have to be commandeered—you’ll be compensated properly. Go with a soldier, see what’s safe to retrieve, bring it back here.” He turned to the soldiers going up to his residence. “Supplies will be sent to you. Send a runner back to me with a report on the status. Now go.” The soldiers saluted and peeled off. He could have let them use the carriage, but he was afraid it wasn’t safe to do so—better to keep it until they knew how much damage and rubble there was. He had a horrible feeling it was pretty bad—around them, dust and smoke rose up into the air, a sign that many buildings had collapsed. “Everyone else—if you’re not being directed to do something, stay here. You’re safe here, and we know where you are. Tezrei, use your runners to bring the reports back—don’t put them at risk. Children—you go directly between the barracks and me. Don’t go back to your houses, don’t go inside any building and don’t run off. We’re putting our trust in you. Now, do your best for king and council!” There was a ragged cheer, and then Wepizi saluted. “I’ll find out if the barracks is standing —we have tents which can be temporary shelter.” “See to it. Keep people out of the buildings and houses for now, even if they’re apparently sound—there might be aftershocks. I’ll start recording who’s safe and who’s missing. Leave me another three soldiers, please, and the jiren, and send a squad more back once you know what’s happening up there. Go!” Wepizi left at a run, followed by the remnants of his squad. As soon as he left, the crowd surged forward, and people shouted their complaints.

“We need to check on our home!” “My mother’s trapped!” “What about my shop?” “Who’s paying for my cheese?” He gave the speaker of that last bizarre complaint a wry look, though shock did strange things to people’s good sense. The jiren and the soldiers moved in front of the podium, a small enough barrier—Juimei had to control this himself. “Everyone, listen! We can’t have ad hoc rescues—that’s how more people get trapped. Mothers, I need you to look after the smaller children. Mayor Gixiel, your residence seems to have survived—can you go and check, and bring back means of recording who’s safe?” The blasted man had his mouth open to argue even before he’d finished speaking. “Your highness, with respect, I should be—” “Have you dealt with this kind of thing before?” “No, but—” “Well, I have. I’m in charge, got it? Anyone else want to argue?” The other elders shook their heads sheepishly, and finally the mayor agreed, though with ill grace. Juimei didn’t give a damn about his hurt feelings—this was no time for petty squabbles. “Elders, each of you will take charge of your division, and record who is here and who is not. We’ll all have to sleep outdoors, at least tonight—at least those who can’t be accommodated in the stronger buildings. For now, priority goes to the injured. When the soldiers get back, we’ll make an organised search, start bringing out supplies and bedding. Everyone, just be patient— and no one is to leave the square without my permission or the permission of the jiren. I don’t want anyone to go missing. I suggest everyone sits down for now—it’ll be a long day.” The energy that had rushed through him as he realised what had happened, made his heart pound, and his thoughts all incredibly sharp and clear—he’d last felt this alive when he’d been in the thick of a doig-ito match. But this was no game, and he was acutely aware that behind the square and what they could see from here, there could be dozens, if not hundreds of people dead, dying or horribly injured. He had to keep control and he had to keep people calm—if they were already safe, he had to keep them that way. It was hard to believe it had all happened so fast—it had been barely five minutes since the quake had ended. He climbed carefully down the podium steps so he could get closer to the crowd. There were quite a number of very small children here—for now, their mothers kept them calm, but they, along with the elderly, would be the most vulnerable. He had to get them somewhere safe. “Your highness!” One of the runners. “Yes, son?” “Neime said to tell you the infirmary is sound, and there are ten beds free.”

“Thank you. Go back, tell him he’s to take charge of organising things there, and to prepare for a large number of wounded. We’ll bring him supplies as soon as we can. Repeat it, please.” The boy did so, and Juimei sent him off, telling him sternly to remain either near the infirmary or to come back to the square. The runner from the mayor’s house had also returned—it was in reasonable shape, a little minor damage but no more. The building was one of the oldest and most robust in the town, and like the residence, could be assumed to be capable of withstanding aftershocks if it had made it through the initial quake. Later, they might be able to use it as accommodation for the most needy, but for now, it would be their kitchen. He ordered the mayor to tell his staff to be ready to supply hot food, water and bread for at least as many people as were in the square now—he would have to get supplies in for them to do this. Three women were asked to be runners for the residence—he wanted the square to remain the centre of control for now. Slowly more people came into the square, dazed, worried, some crying. Now they had their first injured, along with reports of terrible destruction in the main housing area, and people trapped, calling for help. A squad arrived from the barracks, which had suffered a good deal of damage and two known deaths. A runner was sent back with news of what they were learning, and the injured conveyed to the infirmary. He was painfully aware of the need for haste, but also that panic could kill as efficiently as the earthquake, so he gave his orders calmly, and kept his tone as reasonable and measured as possible. So far the elders were doing a good job of controlling their sections, and people appreciated things were happening as quickly as they could —but the mood could deteriorate, if they didn’t think rescues were happening fast enough. He just hoped Wepizi was getting things together at the barracks because they needed the army, now more than ever.

~~~~~~~~ As he ran back down the main street towards the barracks, Wepizi tried to think of all the things they would need to organise. He also had to make sure the damaged town didn’t claim any more victims, starting with his little band right here. He ordered his soldiers and the civilians with them to keep close together—the street was strewn with debris, and more than once, they had to dodge a post or a wall that suddenly tilted and crashed to the ground. People were running, some with blood pouring down their faces, others yelling for help, or just in blind panic—he shouted at them to get to the square and stay there, that help would come once they knew people were safe. Twice he had to order one of his soldiers to stop and take charge of a civilian who looked more seriously injured, but he couldn’t stop to see to it himself—he had to get back and see how bad things were at the barracks. It was as bad as he feared. They found a scene of devastation—most of the main quarters had partially or completely collapsed, though several buildings were eerily untouched. Soldiers

picked at the rubble, and carried supplies into the courtyard, but even as he started to order them to get out of the buildings, an aftershock hit, sending the rest of the infirmary structure crashing to the ground, dust and debris flying up in a noxious, dangerous cloud. Wepizi and the soldiers went flat, while the civilians huddled together in fear as they waited for the tremors to end. It didn’t last long, but it was all the proof they needed that trying to recover anything from the infirmary or the other damaged buildings was too dangerous to be worth it. They would have to try and get what medical supplies they could later. Fortunately, the infirmary wasn’t a very large establishment and the main civilian building was better supplied. It took several minutes for order to be restored again, but once the aftershock died away, he yelled for as many of his people who could to come to him. Finally he had a good number of soldiers assembled in the courtyard, and when he asked for a report, lep Tovoi, grim-faced and covered with dust, stepped forward. Two soldiers had been killed as part of the town wall had collapsed, sending them crashing from their watch position onto the building site, one being crushed by the wall itself, and the other breaking her neck. There were others injured in that collapse, though none were thought to be in danger of death. “The infirmary is a shambles,” Tovoi said, waving his hand towards the wreckage, “and you can see we’ve lost the built sleeping accommodation. The tents are fine of course, but nothing else is.” “Then we don’t want anyone in these buildings until all risks of aftershocks has passed. I want all the officers here, now. Tell everyone else to stay where they are until they have orders, even the injured. They’re safer here than anywhere else for the moment.” As Wepizi waited for his officers, soldiers and even civilians streamed in with reports of the damage in the vicinity—many houses collapsed, more of the city wall gone, and people known to be trapped because they were calling for help. It looked pretty bad, but the only thing to be done was to stay calm and tackle the problem in a logical manner. At least he wasn’t trying to do it on his own. He’d been impressed by the rapid way the prince had taken charge—very often controlling the civilians was the hardest part of disaster relief, but they were in good hands there. But Wepizi still had to get his soldiers organised. His officers assembled and he addressed them all, soldiers and civilians. “Headquarters will be at the town square, where the governor has taken charge. I want all the tents we have, moved up there, and all civilians ordered to assemble there—we’ll move them to safety once we know how bad the damage is. The infirmary’s secure, but inadequate for the numbers of injured we’ll have. I want a field hospital set up near the infirmary, send our medics and injured there without delay. All bodies to be moved here, in the courtyard—they’re our lowest priority, but I want the dead treated with respect. We’ll bury them once the living are safe.” He ordered the five hundred soldiers, and the seconded civilians, divided into six unequal groups—four to begin search, rescue and fire control, the fifth to attend to the supply of food and

water, and the sixth and largest to go down to the square and begin working to support the civilians. “We will need a camp—I suggest that big field downriver of the building site, by Covui creek. No soldier sleeps under a roof of any kind until every last civilian has shelter. No civilian is to go into a wooden structure, no matter what type, until all shocks are done or it’s ordered to be safe. These young people can act as runners—that is all they are to do, and they are not to be sent anywhere but to the square and back. All fit adults are to be seconded into the army on his highness’s command unless they’re in sole charge of children or elderly. I’ll move down to the square with a team of runners once we clear the barracks. Then the barracks, other than this courtyard, is off limits until further notice. Questions? Good. Then move it—Sephiz bless our endeavours.” Soldiers streamed out from the barracks. Wepizi carried out a rapid inspection to see what they had left to work with. The stables had survived surprisingly well, as had the main stores— they were both older and stronger buildings, unlike the sleeping quarters. Lessons would have to be learned from this fact, but now was not the time for that analysis. The air was thick with dust, and there were already fires in the town—he could see the smoke and smell it. His soldiers had kerchiefs and rags tied over their mouths and noses as they worked to extract the most essential equipment from the destroyed barracks, checking none of their colleagues were trapped, and ensuring their doigs, which they would need to clear rubble, were safe and ready to be used. His best-uniform would be wrecked, he thought rather irrelevantly, which he minded not at all, but it wasn’t the most practical thing he could be wearing either, not being designed for easy movement or hard labour. Still he could use the sash to cover his mouth and nose, which he did. Then he went to find his selected team of child runners, now standing safely out of harm’s away in the courtyard while the adults were sent to start work in the town. “We’re heading back to the square—walk in the middle of the street, stay away from the buildings.” “I’m scared,” one boy whispered. “What’s happened to our house?” Wepizi came to him and put his hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, gangly and scared, the height of a man, but right now he was just a child. “What’s your name, son?” “Liroiz, sir.” “Well, Liroiz, I’m scared too. Who else is scared?” Most of the children raised their hands immediately. “Yes, of course you are—it’s pretty frightening. But you’re all alive, and I’m alive, and even if our homes are destroyed, we’re safe. We just have to make sure everyone else is safe, but if anyone wants to stay in the square when we get there, I won’t say a word about it. Come on.” He clapped Liroiz on the shoulder, and bent to speak in his ear. “Sometimes it takes more bravery to admit you’re frightened than to stay silent, my friend. Don’t worry—we’re all in this together.”

He’d introduced the runners to his officers, and made sure they could recognise them, or at least their insignias. As he walked them back to the square, he explained what the teams would be doing, how to avoid being injured by debris, and how the risks of aftershocks meant they still had to be extremely careful. He didn’t like using children, but there was no doubt they were essential, just as their parents and older siblings would be. There just weren’t enough soldiers to do it all, and the children could save the energy of the adults, which could then be used for more dangerous tasks. Little over an hour had passed, but he found the square already transformed. There were many more people than there had been, and food and barrels of water had already been brought into the centre, ready for distribution. The governor had already given orders for latrines and other sanitary measures to be put in place, and Wepizi now set a team of ten soldiers in charge of that exclusively. On the western side of the square, the injured were lining up at the infirmary. A tent had been set up in front of it to extend its capacity, and civilians were helping the injured—it looked as if that was under control, but they would need more supplies, especially bandages and clean water. His medics nodded as he checked in and told them he’d be based in the square with the governor. At least here the air was a little clearer, and he could take the sash from his mouth. The prince had got tables from somewhere—most likely the school—and was using the podium as an observation platform and field headquarters. At first, the civilians at ground level seemed to be running around aimlessly, but Wepizi quickly realised that the prince had organised them into teams. Some were looking after the new arrivals, others were taking names and seeing who was injured, and yet others directed people either to the infirmary or the mayor’s house. He and his runners climbed up to the podium, and he introduced the children, before explaining quickly what he’d arranged with his soldiers. “I thought it was best if we were both based here.” “Indeed. Someone get the tezrei a chair,” Juimei called, and a runner raced off. Once Wepizi was seated behind his desk, the prince continued his briefing. “Now, I’ve arranged the kitchens in my residence and the mayor’s to begin preparing simple hot food, but we’ll need more supplies, and more ability to prepare it—can you set up a field kitchen over there?” He pointed to the mayor’s house. “I’ll have the elderly moved to my residence—it’s stable and safe, and they won’t tolerate the tents so easily.” “Very wise, your highness. Liroiz, go find Jiren Heininke—he’ll be with the team in the square.” The boy tore off—Wepizi told the others to rest and wait. They’d be busy enough soon, and he didn’t want them worn out. “Any reports from outside the town?” the prince asked, checking his notes. “Not yet—but we should prepare for refugees, and more casualties. We’ll need bandages.”

“We’re going to need everything—we need to get a message to the coast, though it’ll be a month before anything can be brought from there. Have we got supplies to last that long, in your assessment?” “I need more damage reports, Juimei. You know there won’t be room for everyone here in the square.” “No, I know. We’ll have to move people outside the walls, but I want to know how many we have lost. You may as well get settled—let the young ones do the running.” Side by side they worked all day, though it was hard to resist the temptation to get out and see for himself what the earthquake had wrought. The prince was right though—the two of them needed to stay where they were, coordinating, organising, deciding, letting others be their eyes and ears, and using reports to decide on the next course of action. By noon, they had reports from outside the town—a barge had been sunk by a rock fall as it sat in a lock three miles downriver, two sailors lost, and the rest of the crew barely escaping with their lives. The lock itself had been damaged and could not be used. This was a blow to plans to bring relief and supplies upriver since there were no proper docking facilities closer than a hundred miles down river, but nonetheless, a small civilian craft was launched from below the wreck site, with a message asking for help from the coastal town of Nedriz. Indications were that the roads from the mountain mines were also blocked, and the main bridge over the Huoinevol, some five miles upstream from the town, was damaged and unsafe to use. That meant the only crossing was by ferry ten miles further upstream. It would mean a longer roundtrip for anyone bringing in goods via that route, and the ferry could not carry the loads the bridge could. In the long term, that could be a serious difficulty. The prince greeted each bit of bad news calmly, making notes, and asking Wepizi how he thought they could work around it. There was a constant queue for his attention, giving reports, asking questions, even complaints—each was dealt with patiently, or passed onto one of the civilians co-opted in as assistants. The eyes that could look so cold, were now warmly reassuring to frightened people. The voice that had been so cruel to Wepizi, now offered comfort, wisdom and advice as if it was used to nothing but. Two weeks before, Wepizi wouldn’t have thought it possible their governor would handle such a crisis with equanimity—he had nothing but admiration for how he was doing so now. Though Wepizi and Juimei were both careful to make sure their child runners were not overworked and that their parents came to feed them, it was mid-afternoon before they themselves could stop just for a few minutes, and eat a bowl of soup with hard bread. The prince was tired—Wepizi could tell that from the way his speech was deteriorating, and he realised that with Neime occupied in the infirmary, they really needed someone to make sure Juimei was looked after. That would be him, he supposed—for now, at least—since he needed their governor as much as their governor needed him.

“Someone said they heard you say you’d dealt with something like this before?” he said, sipping a welcome mug of water. He was parched from the dust and talking to so many people. On the ground, things were still busy, though there was a slightly more settled look to the chaos. More grim determination, less outright fear, though there had been two more aftershocks which had upset people for a while after each had hit, until they realised they were still safe. Juimei glanced around them before turning to him and giving him a crooked smile. “Yes—I lied. It was the only way to shut that fool of a mayor up.” “Ah.” On balance, Wepizi rather thought that had been the sensible thing to do. “But you seem to know exactly what needed doing.” “Yes—because I’ve been reading up on reports of similar events elsewhere in Andon, just in case this happened. My predecessor suggested it.” “A blessing upon his memory, then—but still, I’m impressed. Organisation and leadership comes naturally to you.” “Years of doig-ito have to be good for something, don’t you think?” He cracked his back. “Sephiz’s beard, I’m stiff.” He looked up at the sky. “Still a good bit of daylight left.” He looked at his notes again. “We still have two hundred people unaccounted for—how many more people are trapped, do you think?” “Probably not as many as we feared—we were lucky it hit in the morning, with most people out and about. If it weren’t for this prize giving, there’d have been many more mothers with small children still in their houses.” And many more people inside with cooking fires going too. “And if it weren’t for the fact that so many more came along to watch your soldiers, too.” He gave Wepizi a sober look. “We were lucky.” “Some of us weren’t.” The death toll now stood at thirty, the bodies being stored at the barracks until they could be decently buried. The town holy man—who had barely escaped with his life from his shrine at the cemetery—had said prayers for the dead, but that was all they could do for now. “Will we finish the camp in time?” They were setting a camp up outside the walls for the fittest to use until reconstruction could begin on people’s homes. “We should have something usable—won’t be a very comfortable night, but then that’s true for almost everyone. Juimei, where will you sleep?” “Um...where Neime does. And you, I suppose. My residence is full of people, and I want to be here in case I’m needed. I don’t want to take up shelter someone more needy could use.” It was a problem—they already had over eighty people injured seriously enough to need beds, and none of them could return home. The infirmary only had twenty permanent beds— pallets had been set up in the school, and in the tents outside. Elderly or infirm people who didn’t need medical assistance—more than a hundred of them—were at the governor’s residence. More people arrived all the time—there simply weren’t enough tents to go around, though at this time

of year, and with the weather fine, it wasn’t a problem. More of a problem was waste disposal, and simple logistics of food and water when every available space was taken up with tents and pallets. However, Juimei also had particular needs, and the last thing Wepizi wanted was a governor who was ill or injured out of misplaced sense of duty. “My feeling is that you should return to your residence, Neime too, and make sure you sleep well. If you weren’t governor, you’d be up there with the other....” “Cripples?” Wepizi gave him a look, but the prince’s expression was wry, not hostile, so it wasn’t meant to start an argument. “The other infirm, yes. You’re just as easy to find up there, Neime can share your room or your bed, and that’s two essential personnel who’ll be fit and ready tomorrow.” “You?” “I’m used to it—I’ll sleep in the camp. Tomorrow we’ll need to do an inspection, but there’s little point to that now.” “I’ll leave it to you, Wepizi. Now, we better get back to work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 13 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ By sunset, they were pretty sure they had accounted for every resident of the town. Fiftyseven people were dead, four hundred and thirty injured, a hundred and twenty of those seriously enough to need constant care. There were now two tents allocated to the infirmary, and thirty civilians had been drafted in to help the three healers and ten army medics. A hundred and fifty people camped in Juimei’s residence, a hundred were in the mayor’s house. Though there were other stone houses standing, Juimei and Wepizi decided they didn’t dare risk putting anyone into them until the aftershocks lessened in intensity. Eleven hundred people—mainly women and children—had been sent outside the city walls to a camp set up and run by the soldiers, who would also sleep there that evening. The army had been able to supply tents for the camp, but no more. Everyone else would have to sleep in the square in the open, on blankets and bedding retrieved from the standing houses, or on what pallets had been hastily made from straw from the still standing stables and stores. It had been a risk, going into these buildings, but they simply had to retrieve the basics if people were to survive—even things like cups, bowls, spoons and buckets could make a difference to whether they would come through this or not. Juimei had been surveying the damage all day, just from the podium, and getting reports—it seemed more than half Dizeindo had been flattened, and it was very likely that more would have to be knocked down. The camp outside the walls would be in use for a very long time—and would need to be expanded. People could not continue to sleep in the square indefinitely. He felt exhausted and depressed at the enormity of the task ahead of them. When he sent a runner to extract Neime from the infirmary, and told him that he was stopping now, he could tell his page was in just as bad shape. “We’re going to lose people,” Neime said, his eyes full of misery. “We just don’t have enough medics, space or supplies.” “You might indeed lose people,” Wepizi said, coming to Juimei’s side. “I know it’s painful, but we can only do what we can do, Neime, and trust to Sephiz for the rest of it. You, we need. You and Juimei must rest, as must I, because people expect us to make decisions for them. Neime, you must make sure Juimei sleeps properly and eats. Your highness—that’s your duty too.” “And who cares for you, tezrei?” “My officers and my training,” he said with a weary grin. “I’m used to such conditions— you’re not.” He whistled, and two soldiers came over. “Please get his highness to his residence, and stay up there yourselves. You’re at his disposal until morning.” The soldiers saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Sleep well, your highness, Neime. We’re in good shape, considering.” Juimei acknowledged his words with a bow and a grateful smile, and then they made their slow way out of the square, up towards his residence. They had to walk, of course—there was no room to drive a doig-trap, and all the animals were being used to make the camp, drag wreckage away from trapped people and other heavy jobs. His bad leg refused to cooperate at all, so he was forced to lean heavily on one of the soldiers. Somehow, it wasn’t shameful today to admit a weakness—so many people were in so much worse condition, and they’d all had to turn to each other for help. Though there had been some selfishness and stupidity, he had been heartened by the readiness of most of the citizens to offer that help and to pull together. How long that goodwill would last, he didn’t know—not long, he suspected, if he couldn’t even provide shelter, and livelihoods were ruined. The residence looked deceptively normal. It was only as he got inside, and was greeted by his staff, who showed him where their guests were staying, that the difference was revealed. The ballroom, the grand dining hall and the smaller function room were full of pallets, just as the square was, and lesser rooms were stacked high with moved furniture. He got a quick, efficient report from his butler, Gimoz, who explained what arrangements had been made both for the elderly and the people who were to assist in their care. The assistants were sleeping upstairs, crowded into the guest bedrooms, but the elderly had to be accommodated on the ground floor. As Gimoz made his report, Juimei moved towards the ballroom so he could speak to their new residents, many of whom sat or lay on their makeshift beds, though some were sitting on chairs near windows, or walking around rather dazedly, confused and frightened by the loss of family homes—in some cases, possibly even their families. It was dreadful for them, and they would need gentle handling. They would get it from his staff, for sure, and he could only thank his predecessor for having chosen such excellent people to work in the residence. His appearance was cause for muted rejoicing, and a number of people wanted to shake his hand and thank him for what he’d done—he refrained from saying he’d done virtually nothing, as it was Wepizi and his soldiers and their fellow citizens who had really been hard at it. He spent time thanking his staff and reassuring their new residents, and then excused himself to find his own bed for the night. He found his office had been transformed into a bedroom for four elderly people, but his own bedroom, though there was some extra furniture shoved into a corner, had been left for his own use. “Surely we could fit a couple of people in here,” he said, looking around distractedly. It seemed sinfully wasteful to have so much space to himself. “Yes, but they’d keep you awake,” Neime said. “Juimei, sometimes a sacrifice can do more harm than good. I’m going to see if there’s any water to wash with, and get you some food.” “You shouldn’t have to run after me—not with the day you’ve had.” “Who else would do it? I won’t be long.”

Juimei let him go—it wasn’t like he could stop him—and slumped onto a chair. Fifty-seven people dead—and more probably would die. To think that this morning the worst thing on his mind was whether he would trip over on the podium. He sent silent thanks to the memory of the late Count Fiezenai for his advice and accounts of his experiences in earthquakes as a young man. It was he, along with other writers, who had warned about the risk of allowing people to rush back into their homes to retrieve belongings or attempt to rescue people. That wisdom had undoubtedly saved lives today, since the aftershocks had been severe, nearly as terrifying as the original earthquake. But now the danger was more from disease—and if the weather turned wet, from exposure. He simply had no idea how much usable housing was left in the town, and until the aftershocks were done, he dare not explore that option anyway. Wepizi had been muttering about the scandal that the barracks had not been built to earthquake-proof standards, as the new barracks was planned to be—the economy of not doing so on the new houses in the town had proved to be an utterly false one. So far, the signs were that the older houses had survived best—even the wooden ones. The stone buildings seemed to be largely undamaged. He rubbed his temples—his thoughts were racing and he would never sleep like this. Wepizi was right—he had to rest, be fresh. However inadequate, people were looking to his leadership, and he had a duty to give it to them. At least he wasn’t entirely on his own. Neime had taken over the infirmary without needing the slightest guidance, which had been a tremendous relief, and Wepizi.... Wepizi had been such a damn relief to have with him all day, and to have him, and not that idiot of a mayor, was just a miracle. It was like they shared a mind—Juimei only had to express a thought and Wepizi was already coming up with a solution, and in a calm, cheerful manner which made it so much easier to stay that way himself. No wonder his people worshiped the ground he walked on—no wonder he’d been chosen as tezrei for the region. The people of the town were damn lucky to have him here at this time. It seemed wrong that he was sleeping in his own bed tonight, when almost no one else was— and Wepizi would be sleeping out in the open. Soldier or not, that was hard, and they needed Wepizi to be fit and well. He’d have to talk to him about it in the morning. By the time Neime had returned, Juimei had stripped off his dusty clothes, and sat in a light robe, wishing he could skip supper and get straight to bed. Still, he smiled at his page, carrying a tray and accompanied by a maid who had a bucket of steaming water, an empty one and cloths for them to use. Neime had found somewhere to wash his face and hands but his clothes were still filthy. “Is the steam room usable?” he asked the maid. “No, your highness—we’ve got cracked pipes. But there’s hot water aplenty. We’ve been getting people to wash in the servants’ bathroom, in shifts. So far it’s all going smoothly.” “Excellent. Thank you for your hard work, my dear.”

She blushed and bowed, then excused herself. “They’re all exhausted,” Neime said. “But our guests seem to be fairly comfortable—the staff have outdone themselves.” He set the tray down. Soup and bread, and also water, which was welcome—his throat felt like it was made of ash. “So have you,” he said, waving Neime to sit and start eating. His own appetite was non-existent, but he knew perfectly well it was his duty to eat properly and look after himself. “So far, we’re handling things all right. But I’ll have to go on a tour of the town tomorrow, see what we have to work with. I wonder if we can use the doig-trap.” “Think about it tomorrow, Jui. I can’t do any more today.” “No, of course not.” Neime nodded and took one of the bowls for himself, but then he just held it, without making any attempt to eat. “Neime?” “I...we.... Such terrible injuries...and a little girl died...right there...while I was holding...holding her hand....” The hands holding the bowl trembled. Juimei took the bowl from Neime’s unresisting grasp and set it on the tray. Then he got up, went to Neime’s side and pulled him into a hug. “You did very well,” he murmured, cradling the lad’s head against him. “You can’t save everyone, but you did very well.” Neime sobbed, shoulders shaking, and Juimei could only murmur comforting words and stroke his back. This was his fault—throwing the lad at such a horrible job without even a thought of the effect on him. But even regretting that, didn’t mean it had been a bad decision— because Neime had been magnificent, just as Juimei had instinctively known he would be. “You saved lives. I’m proud of you. Very proud.” “I’m sorry, Jui.” “Don’t be silly.” He reached for one of the cloths the maid had brought, and tilted Neime’s face up so he could wipe it gently. “We are—I am—so very lucky you were here today.” “She died.” “Yes. She did. And she would have died anyway—but she didn’t die alone. Let it go, Neime. She’s not in pain now.” More tears trickled down, but Neime was bravely pulling himself together. “Come on, eat your food and we’ll get the rest we both need. Have to stay strong, both of us.” “Yes.” Neime took the cloth from Juimei’s hand and wiped his face again, then picked up his bowl and began to eat, albeit slowly and with no enthusiasm. Juimei did the same—the soup was good, even with the pressure the kitchens had to be under now. Soup would be a mainstay for a while, he suspected—and wondered how their supplies would hold up. Help from Nedriz could not come too soon.

He wiped as much dirt and dust from his body and hair as he could, while Neime undressed. Neime headed for his own bed, but Juimei touched his shoulder. “If you want, you can sleep with me.” Neime gave him a startled look, but then nodded. “I’d like that. I was all right before, while I was busy but now....” He looked about to cry again. Juimei slung his good arm around him. “Come to bed. It’ll be easier in the morning.” He tended to forget, he realised as he tucked Neime against him, and felt his page’s body relax as he dozed off, that the lad, for all his maturity and wisdom, was only twenty-two, and he’d not had the widest experience. Of course, neither had he, he thought wryly. Today had been a shock to the system, and no mistake—but he hadn’t been alone. None of them had. That had made such a difference. “Well done,” he whispered against Neime’s hair. “You made me proud today.” And he vowed to make Neime just as proud of him.

~~~~~~~~ A minor aftershock disturbed their rest and left some of the older guests confused and frightened. Juimei and Neime spent about an hour, along with other staff, walking around in the dark building with lanterns, reassuring people and making sure no one was hurt. Other than that, they both slept soundly. Juimei was grateful for that—he’d been worried Neime might not be able to forget the horrors of the day, and suffer from nightmares, but he seemed to rest properly, and was, on waking, his usual cheerful, calm self. But Juimei wouldn’t take that at face value— he would make sure he, or at the very least, Wepizi, checked Neime during the day. The lad was too precious to lose. Breakfast was surprisingly normal—drizu and porridge—but then these were easy to make in large quantities, in advance. Even though they had woken early, his household was already active, attending to the needs of their elderly guests, and their own. Juimei spent some time talking to his staff, finding out what they needed, how they were managing, and listening to their worries. He was humbled by how well they were doing in the face of this, and with being left to get on with it almost entirely on their own the previous day. He told them he was proud of their performance, and said they were an honour to the king and council, which got a round of applause. He wondered if his father knew just how potent his name was even in these remote regions, how strongly patriotism flourished even with the neglect this district had endured of late. These people deserved better—he vowed they would have it from now on.

He took the time to groom himself properly because he realised he needed to set an example, and show that even at such times, personal pride was important. Neime assisted him, approval clear in his eyes, before changing into clean, utilitarian clothes himself. “I’ll need transport,” Juimei said as they met up with their soldier attendants, and went to the back of the residence, to the stables—thankfully all undamaged. The way the residence functioned with such apparent normality was the most peculiar thing about this event so far. “The doig-trap?” “No, that’s not flexible enough. Stable master, can I speak to you?” The big man approached and bowed low. Ironic that of all his staff, he should be the one Juimei knew least well, when in former times, he’d have been the first person with whom Juimei would have become acquainted. “Your highness, I’m glad you’re safe.” “Thank you, and I’m glad to see you and your lads are too. Do we have any very quiet, placid doigs I might be able to ride?” “Your highness?” Neime said quietly. Juimei raised his hand to silence him, and waited for the stable master’s reply. “We have several, your highness—but will you be able to get in and out of the saddle?” “I have good friends, assistants and soldiers to help me. Shall we attempt it?” The man bowed and went to find a suitable animal. Juimei turned to his page. “The trap won’t be able to get down some of the streets...and really, it’s about time I at least tried, don’t you think?” “If you’re sure,” Neime said, his eyes still worried. “But you’ll be with people, right?” “All the time. Wepizi too, and he’s the one who said I could learn to ride. So let’s see if our tezrei knows what he’s talking about.” He could sense Neime’s anxiety even when he wasn’t looking at him, but he felt he had to try this—it would make taking charge, inspecting the town’s damage, so much easier, and he needed to see the problems for himself, at least once. The stable master led out a doig which he said was fifteen years old, and as placid and gentle in her temperament as doigs got. Considering how bloody-minded the average doig was, that wasn’t necessarily reassuring, but Juimei endeavoured to look confident and relaxed as he handed his cane to Neime, refusing his page’s help to mount. The stable master suggested how he might do this without assistance, using his good leg in the stirrup, strong hand on the pommel, and simply swinging his weaker side over the saddle. To his amazement—and to Neime’s—he did it on the first attempt, and then laughed in relief as he found himself in the saddle for the first time in nearly five years. “By the benevolent god,” Neime exclaimed, looking up at him in astonishment. He gave his page a wry grin. “The hard bit will be getting down, of course.”

“I’d advise your highness to get help,” the stable master said. “It’s a bit more awkward, as you probably realise.” “I’ll have plenty of people to assist. Please get mounts for the others, stable master, and we’ll be off.” He felt the most heady mixture of elation and terror being back on a doig—it was so good to be up high, to do something once so normal for him, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry about falling and being re-injured. But he refused to show his fear, and smiled confidently at Neime as animals were brought out for him and the two soldiers. “Shall we?” he said casually, picking up the reins and hoping he didn’t look like too much a fool. The square was busy—people were awake, and food was already available on trestle tables outside the mayor’s house and two other large houses. He rode to the podium which had become the nerve centre of their organisation, and found Wepizi at work. He was still in his dusty bestuniform, and the oversized moustache looked a bit frazzled, but the man himself looked calm and ready for any challenge. Juimei enjoyed the frank surprise on their tezrei’s face as he greeted him from the back of a doig. “Is it an appropriate time to make a short inspection, tezrei? I want to know how bad it is.” Wepizi did a rapid double-take, but then nodded. “I think now is as good a time as any, your highness. Let me get a mount.” “Take mine, Wepizi,” Neime said, climbing down. “Your highness—please, be careful,” he said looking up with pleading eyes. “I’ll take personal responsibility for his care, Neime,” Wepizi said, swinging up into the saddle. “Neime, I want you to report to me in person at noon. We’ll eat lunch together.” He bowed. “Yes, your highness.” The two mounted soldiers fell into line behind them and they began their careful progress across the crowded square. People seemed glad to see him, but it was clear from the tired faces that most had spent an unrestful night. “We need to get all of them bedding and shelter today,” he said to Wepizi as they headed to the side of town least affected by the earthquake—he was keen to learn what assets they had to deal with the problems. “We’re doing our best, your highness—we can start retrieval of belongings today from the wreckage, but with luck, we can get some of them back into their houses in the next day.” “Only once there have been no major shocks for twenty-four hours. My predecessor was firm about that.” “As he should be. People can cope another day or so—if we don’t get rain. If we do, we might have to take our chances with the houses.”

A hard decision, Juimei knew—between the risk of people being crushed to death in their sleep, or dying of exposure. Still a risk at this time of year, if they got wet. They were moving off the square now, and behind the stone buildings lining the square, the destruction was immediately much worse—many houses had collapsed almost flat, while others tilted crazily. But even here, where the force of the quake had been so strong, some houses stood apparently unharmed. Some houses, some shops, one or two warehouses. “We should start by making these habitable, and clear that warehouse—we could sleep a hundred people in there, if it was emptied.” “We were planning to do that—there are others, cloth warehouses, on the river side, which are more promising.” “Do it,” he ordered. “Unless the stores themselves are essential, like food, they’re expendable. Use the cloth to make pallets if need be. I take responsibility for any complaints.” “Certainly.” Wepizi suddenly whistled, and Juimei realised there were more soldiers about—examining the standing houses, he now saw. He gave the order regarding the warehouses, and Juimei said he wanted a list of what was standing and available, and what houses were deemed safe to use right now, to be brought to the square. Then they carried on their tour. It was heartbreaking seeing so many homes destroyed, knowing each held the memories and belongings of a family who would have to start from scratch. Some houses had killed their owners too, and that was the next thing he would have to worry about. “Can we spare some people to dig graves, and is the cemetery the best place?” “The cemetery is blocked by the wall collapse, your highness—we’ll have to take them outside.” “Then choose a place that doesn’t interfere with our water supply or the encampment, and have the graves prepared. I’ll announce when the burials will occur. I don’t want people tied up with this too long—it’s bad for morale.” There was so much to decide, so many details to work out, but he’d been right—seeing it for himself made the decisions much easier and clearer, though no less harsh. But even as his mind was occupied with a hundred different thoughts, things he had to remember to deal with and discuss with Wepizi, one small part of him quietly exulted. I’m riding again! He couldn’t believe how easy it was. All right, so this mount was about as sleepy and docile as one could wish for, and certainly nothing like the animals he used to ride, but he was still sitting in the saddle, not falling off, looking completely normal, just as Wepizi did. His companion noticed his glee. “Told you, you could do it,” Wepizi said casually as they turned a corner. “Indeed. Needs must and all that,” he said, just as carelessly, but then he saw something that ended his smug satisfaction. “Oh, Sephiz’s beard,” he whispered, horrified.

He pulled his mount to a halt. Here, the ruination was complete. Three streets, completely flattened, steam from pipes and smoke from smouldering fires, rising up above the smashed wood and glass. Household cisterns were about the only thing still standing above the wreckage. “This is where most of them died?” “Yes. There was a family of six in that house there,” Wepizi said, pointing with his riding crop. “We think they were sitting vigil over their grandfather who was dying. At least, we found them all together, around a man in bed.” What possible comment could he make in the face of something that appalling? Yet Wepizi persisted in believing in the benevolence of his god despite this? “Let’s move on.” They spent nearly two hours, slowly moving from street to street, making notes, giving orders to the soldiers ready to begin the clear up, and then they returned to the square. Dismounting was an inelegant affair, but strangely, Juimei didn’t mind at all—he had bigger concerns. He called all the elders and the mayor for a meeting, clearing the area around the podium and having chairs brought for them to use. This did not please Elder Frankel. “Must we conduct our business in the street? Why can’t we meet in the mayoral residence?” “Because people need to know where I and the tezrei are at all times, and this is the central point. The residence is being used for more important things, and besides—if we’re making decisions which affect these people, should we not do this in plain sight? Elder, I don’t have time to argue about such petty issues,” he added sternly. “Now we have about eighty houses completely intact. We’ll allow their owners to return to those tomorrow if we suffer no more large aftershocks today, and the owners will then be responsible for hosting three or four people each at the minimum—I’d like to see an extra family housed in every home. The engineers are still assessing if the more damaged houses can be repaired quickly—we’ll assume they can’t. However we do have six warehouses which we can empty—the paper and cloth stores belonging to you, Mayor Gixiel, will be the first ones as they are the soundest.” “Wait a minute,” the man blustered. “You can’t just toss my goods outside! If they get wet, they’ll be ruined, and so will I!” “Mayor, if people get wet and cold, they die. I’m sure you would agree that would be a far worse prospect.” Juimei glared at him, daring him to disagree, but with a sour look Gixiel subsided. “We’ll do what we can to minimise damage, but when so many have lost so much, it’s not going to be high on the list. Elders, I need your assistance. Tezrei, we need to organise the civilians into teams.” Apart from the housing, they had to get essential services like the bakery and grain mills back in operation. Waste removal had to be strictly controlled or their water supply would be contaminated. The mayor squawked again when Juimei said they would be using his cloth to make bedding, but this time Wepizi gave him the evil eye, and that shut him up completely.

The graves were dug, and after consulting with the holy man, Juimei announced burials would occur the following morning, a joint funeral to be held at the graveside. There were some mutterings of discontent that it wasn’t right not to bury the dead in the cemetery, but mostly people accepted this was better than nothing—or a mass grave, which was the only alternative. He sent the elders away to work with Wepizi’s officers, who would lead the civilians in groups of about a hundred each. The important thing was to make sure everyone had something to do, that no one was allowed to sit and fret and worry about lost homes, loved ones or businesses. All residents with the smallest carpentry, building or technical skill, were seconded and placed under the direct control of the army engineers. Other able-bodied men and women were put to work clearing the streets around the standing houses and warehouses, and the bakery was allocated a team all of its own. Pallets were made from straw, and slowly essentials like blankets and clothes were retrieved from the less damaged houses. Food was served in shifts, and utensils taken out in batches to the river to clean. He made sure that simple pleasures like drizu and camp tea were readily available, knowing that sometimes it was the lack of the smallest things which sent people into a depression. The school teachers and some of the parents had taken charge of the smaller children, and these were all safely away from the damaged town out in the camp. The older children were set to work on lighter chores, or running messages. He created a title for those working for the adults in this way—‘His highness’s special couriers’—and, using some of the commandeered material upsetting his honour the mayor so much, had one of the soldiers fashion them all blue sashes. Then, even frantically busy as he was, he made time to assemble them all at the podium and put the sashes on the children personally, co-opting Wepizi to assist. When they were all decorated, he raised his hand. “Now, do your duty for king and council!” The fifty or so children cheered wildly, a bright spot of happiness among all the worry, and then ran off back to the tasks already assigned to them. He grinned a little at their enthusiasm, turned and found Wepizi looking at him thoughtfully. “I thought it would make them easier to find,” he said with a shrug. “Indeed it will,” Wepizi agreed, smiling and stroking that ridiculous moustache of his. “An excellent idea.” He looked up. “Noon. We should eat before we forget to—ah, and here comes Neime.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 14 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wepizi was relieved to see his young friend arrive promptly. There was something about the prince’s manner which made him think Neime wasn’t handling things as easily as he appeared, and it was a mighty responsibility he’d taken on. But the lad seemed calm and cheerful, and Juimei greeted him with affection, cuffing him gently and asking how things were going. The infirmary was one of their greatest worries, but though two more injured had died in the night, not unexpectedly, the other patients were stable. “I’ll come and inspect things, if you think it’s wise. Let people know we’ve not forgotten them,” the prince said. Neime grinned. “I think that would really help. But I’m starving—breakfast was ages ago. Do we have to queue?” Wepizi shook his head. “Rank has its privileges.” He whistled up a couple of the newly inducted ‘special couriers’ to bring them soup and bread. Neime stared after the boys curiously. “What are they wearing?” “Badge of office,” Juimei said cheerfully. “They’re all in his highness’s service, oath sworn and everything.” “Seriously? What a wonderful idea. We should keep it as a permanent thing when this is all over.” “Let’s get through this first. Give me your report.” Wepizi’s attention was taken up with two grois having difficulty over one of the warehouses they were clearing, so he had to let Juimei and Neime discuss the infirmary on their own. But he kept a watch on them out of the corner of his eye, because he was worried about the strain on two civilians taking so much responsibility without any experience of such a disaster. Much to his surprise, the prince was blooming under the pressure, and while Neime might be struggling a bit, he drew strength from his master, where just a scant week before, it had most definitely been the other way around. He’d seen it before—people rising to challenges and discovering their true worth—but he’d seen it too often go the other direction, where so-called leaders had collapsed completely, unable to cope at all with so much stress. He’d honestly have thought the prince would have been of that type—but he was very glad to be proved wrong. That business with the children and the sashes—inspired, truly inspired, and it wasn’t just the children who got a lift from it. He saw parents talking to their sons and daughters and admiring the simple bits of pretty cloth, pleased at such personal recognition from the governor and the son of the king, even with all their worry and sorrow. This was what the prince had taken such a long time to understand. At least he’d worked it out in time.

Their runners returned with the food—both the prince and Wepizi spent a couple of minutes talking to the children, asking how they were, and how they were managing. A small thing, but they could only do so much, and Wepizi believed in the ripple effect. Tiny kindnesses could create more goodwill than was obvious at the time, and with so much misery, every opportunity to boost morale was precious. A lesson the prince had learned well, because he was very solicitous of Neime over lunch, and kept his hand on his shoulder as he talked to him. Something had happened, Wepizi realised, that had made the prince worry about his friend. But he seemed to be handling it, so Wepizi didn’t interfere. He was just wiping the end of his soup out of the bowl with the last bit of bread, when he looked up at the sound of running hooves and the clatter of cart wheels. A cart was being driven at speed from the town gate into the square, the driver waving, and the woman beside him frantically calling to them. “Help us! Help us, please, we have injured!” Soldiers ran towards them from all sides of the square to help. Neime jumped down from the podium, and Wepizi helped the prince climb down the stairs to meet the cart that pulled up in the street hard by them. It was a farmer’s cart, pulled by a pair of doigs and driven by an elderly couple. “What have you got?” he asked. The cart was covered, so the problem wasn’t obvious at first. “In the back,” the man said. “Young girl. She’s hurt, and there’s a dead boy as well. Please hurry—we’ve driven as fast as we can!” Wepizi whistled up some soldiers, and Neime ran to the infirmary to fetch a medic. The prince and Wepizi went to the back of the cart where a young girl—sixteen, seventeen, no more —was lying, bloodied and unconscious, with her lower leg and foot heavily bandaged. Something body-shaped lay under a bit of sacking, a dirty bit of hair the only sign of it being human—the quickest examination proved there was no hope for the boy. He ordered the girl be lifted gently from the cart and taken to the infirmary. Soldiers climbed in, lifted her by the blanket she lay on—the pain of movement roused her a little and she moaned, but she never really regained consciousness as she was carried out of the back of the cart. Once Neime and the medic had taken charge and she was removed to safety, Wepizi turned to the couple who had dismounted and were waiting for his pronouncement. “Is she your daughter? Is this your son?” “No, sir,” the man said. He was obviously a farmer in his fifties, poor, worn, weary face not just from immediate worry, but a life of hard toil. His grey-haired wife held his arm anxiously and stared at Wepizi with wide, scared eyes. “Don’t know who they be. We found the two of them in our barn yesterday, when we came to try and get the animals out. The boy was dead

when we pulled them out—the girl, well you can see the state she’s in. We kept her overnight, but she’s getting worse—all we could do was get here as fast as we could, because we got no healer near us at all. Our boys are still on the farm but we had to do something. We left at dawn, been driving all day. Forty miles, sir—we came as fast as we could.” He seemed anxious Wepizi understood they’d tried their best. Which they had, poor souls. “You did the right thing—have you eaten?” They shook their heads. “Then we’ll find you food and shelter for tonight.” He called more of his people over, had the couple taken in hand, their exhausted doigs unhitched to be given water and food, and the boy’s body removed to their makeshift mortuary. He was only a child too, perhaps a little older than the girl. His chest and abdomen were crushed, his face showing a little of his struggle but otherwise unmarked. They must have been sleeping in the barn or caught unawares somehow. What a dreadful waste of a young life. “Sephiz keep your spirit safe,” he said quietly as the body was lifted out and carried off. “Where can their parents have been? I’ve never heard of children just turning up on a farm like this, have you?” the prince asked, limping to his side, and staring hard at the cart and the departing injured girl. “No—we need to ask that girl about it, but you can see she’s in no fit state. Those people have come forty miles. This earthquake’s spread the harm a long way.” “And not a damn thing we can do about it,” the prince said grimly. “We’ll have to trust our remote troops are doing some good, but in reality—the people outside a day or two’s ride are beyond our ability to help, at least until relief comes from the south or Tsikiugui. It’s not what I want, but it’s what’s true.” “And I’m sure they know that,” Wepizi said. “We have to trust them to come to the town if they really need us—and if they can’t get here, we can’t get there in time either. Our soldiers will do a sweep, and know to get reports to us. We don’t have the personnel to send patrols—not and deal with this here,” he added, waving his hand at the controlled chaos of the square and the town beyond it. “I know but it’s still hard.” He sighed. “Are you coming with me? I should go to the infirmary now.” “Yes, I want to see my soldiers.” An army medic met them as they entered the infirmary grounds, and she acted as their guide, supplementing Neime’s reports with her own observations. “We’ve got six people we think won’t survive—they wouldn’t survive regardless,” she said, before they entered the tent at the front of the infirmary building. “But if we can stave off infection, and we have adequate water and food, then we have hopes the rest will make it. Your highness, sir, please wash your hands, and be careful who and what you touch. Cleanliness is our main weapon against infection.”

They did as she asked, in a bucket set near the door with disinfectant soap and cloths, and were then led through the tent. Though it was crowded with pallets and cots, Wepizi was pleased to see all was ordered, clean and neat in military fashion. Patients, medics and their carers all looked their way as they came in. “For king and council!” one of the patients cried weakly, and though some of the patients looked barely able to speak, his cheer was taken up with enthusiasm. The prince bowed, then raised his hand, as a couple of the patients tried to stand. “Now, now, don’t get up. Thank you for that. I won’t be staying long, I know you need your rest. I just wanted to tell you that on behalf of his majesty, I pledge all my strength, and all the services of the council, to helping you. We have your families well looked after, we’re finding them shelter, and we’ll rebuild your homes to be as good or better than before. None of you need to worry—no one will be left behind, or ruined. It might take a while, but we will rebuild, and we will overcome this. Together, as Andonese. You have my personal vow on it. “ Another cheer—it really seemed his words had been of comfort to many. Wepizi could imagine why. Trapped here by injury or ill-health, worrying about their loved ones, it must have been very hard for these people. Juimei spoke to a couple of the patients very eager to talk to him, and then touched Wepizi’s arm. “Why don’t we split up? Visit as many as we can?” “Good idea. But you need an attendant—” “I’ve got an infirmary full of people ready to help me, tezrei,” Juimei said with a wry smile. “I’ll be fine. Go find your soldiers.” Wepizi smiled and agreed, and to himself, wondered at how this disaster could become a personal salvation for their governor. It was almost as if what he had really lacked since his injury had been a meaningful challenge. He had that now in barrow loads. The main infirmary building was much as the tent had been—ordered, clean, but crowded. This was where the more seriously ill patients were being cared for, so he didn’t linger, just greeted his medics and the civilian healers, and asked if they needed anything. They reported they were holding on pretty well, which was all he could ask for at this point. Turning to look for his soldiers, he ran into Neime, and was shocked to find the lad obviously distressed, his cheeks pale and his eyes shocked-looking. “What’s wrong?” Neime swallowed before he spoke. “That girl—they’re going to take her leg off. They said it’s the only way to save her life.” “Then it will be. It’s possible to live a good life even with a limb missing.” “I know.” He shook himself. “Where’s Juimei...I mean, his highness?” “Juimei’s visiting patients, and managing just fine. He sent me away to see my people, so you don’t have to rush off and find him. Neime, look at me.” He made the lad face him. “You

can’t do anything for her now—but when they’ve done operating, I’m sure she’ll appreciate a friend. We need to find out where she came from, find her family.” “I’ll look after her, don’t worry,” Neime said, a determined set to his jaw. “Your soldiers are in the school house—the last I heard, they were all doing well. Want me to show you?” “No, stay here, you’re needed. And doing a very good job. I know it’s a relief to me and to Juimei that we can rely on you.” He gave Neime’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You go on.” The school house had been turned over to non-patient use, mostly—a field kitchen, a place to wash and prepare dressings, drugs and bandages, and so on—but two rooms were being used for recuperating injured. He found his ten injured soldiers in one—the main occupants, in fact, of the entire room. Slates and models, schoolbooks and desks were all shoved in a corner—there was so little room to put anything, that was the problem. But here, as in the rest of the infirmary, there was no disorder, and his people lay or sat on pallets in neat rows. He waved down attempts to rise and salute. “At ease, all of you. How do you feel? Any complaints?” He spent time with each, and found spirits were high, though the injuries were painful, and the hastily made straw pallets far from the most comfortable places for injured people to rest. The soldiers weren’t interested in discussing their own ills—instead they wanted to know about their comrades, and how the restoration was going. All were eager to be well and out there doing their jobs, and Wepizi had to remind them that their first duty was to get fit. “There’s plenty of work going begging,” he told them wryly, raising grins. “This job won’t be done in a month, or six months.” “Sir, what about the winter? We can’t rebuild the barracks and the houses in time.” “It’s a problem, certainly. But I’ve spent winters in tents, and I know you have, so we’ll be all right—the civilians are more of a worry. Once you’re all a bit stronger, I might use you to help us plan things, and if you have any good ideas, pass them on. Broken legs won’t affect your brains now, will they?” “No, sir,” they chorused. The man nearest the door suddenly sat up straight. “Come to attention for his highness!” Wepizi turned and found Juimei limping in, waving at the soldiers to be at ease. “No, please, don’t get up. I just thought I’d come by and see how you all were doing.” Even with the order to relax, his people tried to at least lie at attention, but Wepizi understood the instinct and knew there was no fighting it. “Have you seen all the other patients?” “Most of them—some are too ill to be visited, and of course, I couldn’t leave without seeing his majesty’s own soldiers,” he added, raising his voice and smiling at the patients, who grinned. “And I bet you all thought your school days were behind you.”

“Never too old to learn, your highness,” a groi with a broken arm and heavily bandaged head, said cheerfully. “No, I’m finding the truth of that every day. Is there anything you need? We need you back on your feet, so don’t be shy about asking for anything that will help that.” Wepizi found a stool for the prince to rest on, then watched in some amazement as he chatted unselfconsciously with people he’d been barking at just weeks before for ‘staring’ at him, and with an ease he would never have suspected him capable of. His soldiers were charmed, pleased as anything to have the personal attention of his majesty’s representative, actively willing themselves to get better so they could go back to serving not just the king and council, but this man personally. And the prince rose to their expectations, so it seemed to Wepizi—growing in confidence and kindness even as he watched. Juimei stayed only twenty minutes or so, then excused himself because he and Wepizi both had things to do, but in that short visit, he had done a good deal to boost the soldiers’ morale—no bad thing even under better circumstances. Once they were out of the room, Wepizi realised the prince was tired again, but his concern was brushed aside. “Talking takes it out of me, that’s all. Did you see Neime?” “Yes—he’s upset about that girl. They’re going to amputate her leg. Can’t be helped, of course.” Juimei winced a little. “He’s taking the injuries and death too much to heart. He feels things so much, that’s the problem. Do you think I should put someone else in charge of this?” “You know him best. But based on my own assessment, I think he’ll cope—with the support of his friend.” “Friends, you mean,” Juimei said with a smile. “He counts you as one.” “I would be honoured if he did—but you’re his companion, the man he trusts and loves. If you’re there, he can do anything he needs to.” “Put a lot of faith in me, don’t you?” They began to move slowly towards the door. “A lot of people are. From what I can see, it’s justified.” “I sincerely hope so, because getting this wrong won’t be like losing an ito match, will it? Come on, I dare say the mayor will be annoyed if I disappear for too long, and we can’t have his honour all ruffled up again.”

~~~~~~~~ All afternoon, he and Wepizi worked next to each other, struggling to stop the town descending into chaos, encouraging, chivvying, giving orders, and settling the disputes that arose when one got hundreds of worried, tired people crammed together without any promise that their

ordeal would end soon. There was another aftershock two hours after noon, but it caused no further damage—and since everything he’d read, or that anyone knew, said that the aftershocks always continued to reduce in strength, he consulted with the engineers and Wepizi about putting people back into the standing houses. Clouds were gathering, and it seemed likely there would be rain in the next twenty-four hours—possibly overnight. They took the decision that householders could go back if they wished, but no one would make them. In every case, people were eager to get back into their homes, and most willing to billet anything from six to ten extra people. The more reluctant ones were told they really had no choice about it, but that they would be given all the help they needed. By sunset, that meant they had found shelter in house for nine hundred people in proper houses, and most of those who were left, were taken to the cleared warehouses. The square was now empty of pallets and bedding, though field kitchens still needed to remain there, and it was still the best place for Juimei to be based for ease of communication and access. The few remaining refugees were sent out to the camp to be squeezed in somehow—Wepizi assured him they could be found somewhere to sleep, at least for that night. The warehouses were not ideal places for people to stay, but they would keep the rain off, and that was the most important consideration at this point. The mayor was most unhappy about the treatment of his stores, but with the river blocked, it wasn’t as if he could easily get them to market anyway. Juimei had told him to cover the goods as best he could, but to stop complaining or he’d have the lot set on fire to keep people warm. Wepizi had arched an eyebrow at that, but Juimei noticed he hid a smile behind his hand as the mayor stomped off angrily. “Is it wise to upset him?” Wepizi asked. “I no longer care very much—when this is over, I’ll do what I can to persuade him to step down. Either that, or he’ll have to answer some hard questions why my father’s laws about all buildings being made to proper standards seem to have been disregarded over the period exactly coinciding with his incumbency.” “Our barracks suffered the same lack—you can’t blame him for everything, your highness.” “I can try,” Juimei said, with a carefully neutral expression, which only made Wepizi smile more widely. “Nuleima?” he called, to one of his ‘special couriers’ who was waiting nearby. “Would you fetch Neime from the infirmary for me?” “Yes, your highness.” She sped off to do his bidding. “When will the assessment of the bridge be completed?” he asked Wepizi. “Not for a week. I don’t know when we can start trying to raise that ship either. I think we might need help from Nedriz for that.” “Even that might not be enough—we need to start thinking about evacuation. I need realistic estimates of how many houses we can rebuild before winter, but if we can’t move goods easily up and down that river, some of these people won’t have livelihoods to stay for. If the mine road

can’t be cleared, the town might die completely,” he added, suddenly struck by gloominess at just how bad this could be for the town. “I don’t believe we’re anywhere near the point of needing to give up,” Wepizi said gently. “Already we’re in better shape than I thought we would be at this point. We’ll get more reports and assessments tomorrow—then we can make a better judgement. For now, you should stop, go back and get some rest. You sound tired.” Juimei rolled his eyes. “You mean I’ve started to lisp worse than usual.” “No, I mean, you sound tired. As I do, I imagine.” “Even your moustache looks weary.” Wepizi laughed and stroked the silly thing. “Ah, yes, it’s suffering from inattention. I’m hoping I might be able to change my uniform and groom myself better tomorrow, if we can get at my quarters. Then my moustache will be proud and perfect once more.” “I can hardly wait,” Juimei said wryly. “Yes, Nuleima?” The girl bowed sketchily. “Begging your highness’s pardon, but Neime said to let you know that he wants to stay in the infirmary tonight to watch one of the patients.” “Over my dead body, he will,” Juimei muttered. “Thank you, Nuleima—you go find your father, and well done.” She bowed again and ran off. Juimei got to his feet, groaning as stiff muscles protested. “I’m not having him wear himself out over a single nameless girl. We need him too much. Wepizi? Fancy being moral support?” “Whatever your highness commands, of course. But Jui...he might need to do this.” “No. I won’t allow it. You don’t know him like I do—he’ll work himself into exhaustion, trying to make it right for her. And he can’t, because she’ll be crippled, same as I was.” Wepizi stood up and looked him in the eye. “You’re walking proof that Neime’s love can work miracles. I wouldn’t deny that to another so quickly, if I were you.” Juimei blinked, surprised at such a deeply personal remark. “Uh...right. Still...the lad needs to rest.” Wepizi bowed a little. “So he does. Shall we?” It was getting dark, and Wepizi ordered two soldiers to attend them and bring lanterns. Inside the infirmary, patients were being given supper, and Juimei’s reappearance caused something of a flutter until he told them he was just collecting his page and then going. They were directed to the main ward and found Neime sitting at the bedside of the unknown girl, holding her hand and frowning as he stared intently at her pale features. She was unconscious, the blankets over her legs raised by something, a basket or frame, underneath them. She must have had the surgery. Poor child, to be maimed so young—but at least she was alive. He came and put his hand on his page’s shoulder. “I asked you to come along, Neime.”

“I can’t. Someone needs to sit with her—she’ll be so frightened and upset when she wakes up. Can you imagine? She doesn’t know what’s happened to her yet.” And what difference would it make when she learned it? “There are people who can sit with her as well as you, my lad. Come along.” Neime narrowed his eyes, and with a sinking heart, Juimei recognised his page was in a defiant mood. He didn’t want to quarrel with him, and certainly not here. “No. I promised her I’d stay.” “When?” “She woke up as they were examining her before the operation. I was the only one who could calm her down, and I promised I’d stay here. She doesn’t know—they didn’t dare tell her what they’d have to do.” Juimei was torn, wanting to let Neime keep his promise but worried about the effect on him. Before he could answer, Wepizi, perhaps seeing his dilemma, intervened, clearing his throat. “Neime, his highness is worried about your own health. The lass will not be left alone, you know that.” “I promised her.” Juimei sighed. “Neime...honestly, you can’t help them all.” “But I can help her—please, Jui.” “And what about your duties? To me, to the infirmary? When will you sleep?” “When she wakes up—it’s only tonight, please?” “Oh...do as you wish. You will anyway,” he said grumpily, but as Neime looked down, obviously hurt, he squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “Try to get some rest. Her friend is being buried tomorrow, along with all the others. She’d want you to be there for that.” “I will be. Thank you.” Though he still thought it was an appallingly bad idea, Juimei thought it better to concede defeat with good grace, so he only smiled, and kept up the smile until they were outside. “Now not only will he be exhausted tomorrow, I’m without an attendant,” he complained peevishly. He felt for the girl’s situation, he truly did, but he was tired and Neime wasn’t a luxury for him—he was a necessity and a friend whose company was Juimei’s only solace. “Your servants?” “All busy looking after our hundred or so guests. Don’t suppose I could trade you a comfortable bed and a wash in exchange for your assistance?” Wepizi smiled. “A comfortable bed and a wash? I might be persuaded—this uniform really isn’t suitable for sitting around in for any length of time, and I look disreputable.” He did rather, his clothing grimy and his proud yellow sash a miserably dirty thing over his shoulder, though the man’s erect bearing and aristocratic politeness covered many sins. “Then

come to my residence, and I can offer you a change of clothes too—we have at least got plenty of hot water. Uh...you don’t need to sleep in my bed or anything—Neime has his own.” “Either would do,” Wepizi said peaceably. He turned to his soldier attendants. “Let me have one of those lanterns, and tell lep Tovoi that I’ll be attending his highness this evening. I can be contacted at the residence, but I’ll be back here in the morning.” “Yes, sir. Rest well, sir,” his soldier said. “Thank you, you too. Goodnight.” He waited until his soldiers walked off, then turned to Juimei. “Shall we?” he said, offering his arm. Juimei wasn’t too proud to accept. His body ached from weariness. A month ago, he couldn’t have imagined doing this, but it had been the most natural thing in the world to offer. Still, he thought he might have been a bit precipitous. “Your soldiers won’t mind?” “Most of them won’t even know, Juimei. We’re spread all over the town. So long as I can be easily found, they won’t care where I am. My leps and jirens are reliable—I can trust them to not need me on the spot.” “Ah, good. I don’t mean you to think I consider you nothing but a manservant, though.” “I don’t think that. You’re doing me a favour too, and I’m sure Neime would be grateful you were being looked after.” “Huh—so this is for Neime’s benefit?” “Not entirely,” Wepizi said, with one of his gentle smiles. “Now, please take care where you step.” He could have wished for the doig again, but it had been taken back to the stables hours ago. “I can get on a mount easily enough, but I can’t get off,” he commented as they walked slowly up the street. This area was, superficially, the least affected by the earthquake, with so many stone buildings and houses, but the air was still heavy with dust and smoke. If the threatened rain came, it would at least clean that all away, though it would cause other problems. “I’m sure we can work out a method which gives you independence. I thought it took some courage to do that this morning.” “You wouldn’t have thought so if you’d known how terrified I was that I’d fall.” “No, that would have taken even more courage. Huoinevol district has a brave, wise governor.” Juimei turned to him in surprise. “But I’ve been awful to you.” “Whatever my personal feelings, I’d say the same,” Wepizi said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled again. “But don’t assume a grudge once taken, can never be set aside, your highness. It’s contrary to Sephiz’s will, and my own inclination.”

A rare spirit. A very rare spirit indeed. “Then Huoinevol district has a kind and generous tezrei as well.” “Thank you. Now, here we are.”

~~~~~~~~ Wepizi hadn’t thought the governor’s residence was that large, but an astonishing number of people had been squeezed inside it. Elderly and invalid people were everywhere, sitting on pallets, walking slowly through the small amount of free space, or sitting on chairs, being spoken to by younger people he assumed were civilian helpers. The new residents looked tired and worried, but most managed a slight smile as the prince walked past, and Juimei stopped and spoke to several briefly, even though he himself was just as weary, and easily as in need of help as any of them. He might have expected chaos, but things seemed under control. The servants who came to meet them, were cheerful, though obviously tired, and very glad to see their master back with them. “Neime is staying overnight with a patient at the infirmary, so the tezrei has kindly offered to assist me for the night,” Juimei told a manservant who came up to assist. “Gimoz, do you think the tezrei’s uniform could be cleaned up a bit by tomorrow? His stuff’s all buried under the barracks.” “Of course, your highness. You put it out, sir, and we’ll have it all lovely and smart for you in the morning.” “I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Wepizi protested. “No trouble, sir, we’ve got other things being cleaned and dried. Got to keep everything orderly, your highness, or it all becomes uncontrollable.” “Quite right, Gimoz—Tezrei, let him take care of it. He’s our butler—a most efficient and loyal servant.” Gimoz beamed at the praise. “Can you have water and food brought along, Gimoz? Just the same as everyone else.” “Of course. We’ve lost a few people—no, not like that,” he hastened to add, as Juimei started to exclaim. “Their families came to take them home. Makes things more comfortable, I have to say.” “Yes, it will, but I do need to know if we can put any more people up. We’ve started to get farmers with injured coming into the town.” “I’ll get a report to you on that in the morning, your highness. Sir, you put your uniform out for the maid when she comes and I’ll have it back to you by the time you eat your breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Wepizi said, resigned to the fact he was staying in a very well-organised house with its own routines, as immutable as those of the army. Politeness required he did what they asked—and it would be blissful to be in clean clothes and out of this tight, formal uniform. The prince’s bedroom was on the ground floor, instead of the one above as was usual—but that made sense of course. Juimei waved his hand at the table and chairs stacked in the far corner of the room. “Sorry about the furniture—they needed the space, and with only me and Neime using the room, it seemed fair.” “No need to apologise. Last night I slept with someone’s backside in my face.” Juimei laughed. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I hadn’t gone into the army. Please, strip, and use my robe until the water comes—I had the luxury of a wash last night, your need is the greater.” He needed no further urging, discarding his filthy uniform with relief. He wondered if it could be restored at all. It was almost too disgusting to be worth wearing, at least as a sign of rank. Juimei indicated a plain robe hanging over a stand, and a pair of slippers he could borrow. Wepizi slipped them on, then sat heavily onto a chair, rubbing his temples. “Tired?” Juimei asked. “Somewhat. You are, I can tell.” “Yes, I’m shattered. I don’t know why, since I was sitting most of the day.” Wepizi shook his head. “You think you were, but actually, you were pretty active, looking around, meeting people—riding—and talking to people. All that talking.” “Oh yes, the talking. I’ve had more conversations in two days than I’ve had in four years. I have to wonder why I thought it was so hard before. But in this situation, the peculiarities of the governor are the last thing on people’s minds.” “People adjust to most things pretty quickly, Jui. Perhaps you never gave them a chance.” The prince’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps I never had the courage before. Seeing what they’re all going through, throws my problems into perspective. I’ve been a dreadful fool.” “People do what they’re ready to do. Looks to me like you finally finished healing—and in good time too.” He bowed a little. “Forgive me for so personal a remark.” Juimei dismissed his apology. “It seems a little silly to stand on ceremony when we’re sharing a bedroom.” “Yes, of course.” Privately, Wepizi wondered if this man could be entirely trusted not to be cruel, but he liked more and more of what he saw of him, and was prepared to hope his new confidence would return him to the sweeter nature that Neime certainly believed in.

A knock at the door announced food and bathing items in the hands of two maids, one of whom scooped up Wepizi’s uniform and whisked it away to be cleaned. The prince sat down at his little table. “If you want to bathe first, go ahead—I can eat,” his highness said. “Thanks, I will—all I can taste and smell is dust.” He didn’t dare blow his nose in here—he was sure it would be revolting. “Horrible, isn’t it. Do you think I should have made Neime come back? He doesn’t need this on top of the rest of it.” “Well, you could have forced him—and he’d have been upset, and just as worried. He has to learn for himself how much he can do—and the girl will be grateful, at least.” “Maybe,” Juimei said sceptically. Wepizi wet a cloth and began to wipe himself down—his neck was disgusting, so was his hair. As he bathed, the prince slowly ate his stew, though without great enthusiasm. “We’ve had reports occasionally of strangers being seen on farms—fruit and vegetables being stolen, animals going missing, that kind of thing. I’d say there’s been a slight increase over the last year, but nothing ever comes of it. There’s nothing to be seen when I’ve had the reports investigated, but I have to wonder if this girl might be connected in some way.” “Perhaps.” Wepizi had occasionally seen similar reports across the country, and had always put it down to petty thieving and animal predation. But the appearance of the two children did need an explanation. He caught the prince glancing at him a couple of times as he washed, expression carefully neutral. He recalled Juimei’s lover had been a man, and wondered, as was difficult not to, how he measured up against that unkind creature, and what Juimei thought of Wepizi himself. It was most likely only curiosity behind those discreet glances. Nothing wrong with curiosity, or even admiration—Romi had been kind enough to say he wasn’t bad looking for his age, though Wepizi was aware that he could never be a match for his magnificent friend. Wepizi himself was content to look when opportunities came up, but had no intention of ever doing anything more. That part of his life was over. He used the dipper to rinse through his hair, and though it was far from perfectly clean, by the time he was done, he was dust-free and felt much more refreshed. “Ah, truly a gift from the benevolent god,” he said with a sigh. “More like a gift from my benevolent household,” Juimei said dryly. “Who are also a gift from Sephiz,” Wepizi riposted. “But I thank them—and you—as well. This was a luxury I wasn’t expecting—I feel guilty.” “Weren’t you lecturing me yesterday about looking after myself? Now, would you mind helping me undress? Neime would normally....” Wepizi cut off the apology, there being no need. “Of course—am I not your page for the evening?”

“I’d never suffer a page of mine to wear that damn thing,” Juimei muttered, pointing at Wepizi’s moustache. “Still looks tired.” “I’ll beg a comb from you and tidy it, but first, allow me....” He imagined that when the prince wasn’t so weary, he could undress himself well enough, but his movements were slow and awkward now, and it simply made it easier for him to have assistance. When he was stripped, it was clear that his small appetite had to be habitual—he was thin, even more so than Wepizi himself, who’d never been able to put any fat on, despite Lema’s fine cooking. He’d expected to see something to explain the limp, the one-sided weakness, but apart from the thinness, Juimei’s body was surprisingly perfect. “Do you need help to wash?” “No, just nudge that stool over and move the bucket. Thanks—I’m sorry to be so useless, I just get so tired at the end of the day.” “No need to apologise. We all have our weaknesses.” “Not in the army, surely.” “You’d be surprised. That water’s getting cool, do you want...?” Juimei raised a hand. “Stop. Eat. I’ve had enough assistance. I command it.” Wepizi made a sardonic bow. “Yes, your highness.” The stew was delicious, and he was hungry—their lunch had been small, and a long time ago. As he ate, he returned the favour and watched the prince slowly clean himself. Just looking at him, one would never know about his disability, and even that was only pronounced now with his fatigue. And the fatigue, even the dirt, couldn’t hide his aristocratic good looks. The long straight nose and sharp cheekbones, characteristic of the line of Godiw, were softened by firm, sculpted lips and intelligent eyes that could look laughingly kind or cold as frozen ifino, depending on their owner’s mood. He really could do with a little more meat on his bones, though there were still signs of the athlete he had been, and his basic bone structure was sound. He perhaps had been a more muscular man, but never a heavy or a broad one. Perhaps more doig riding, more exercise would help build tone—but they had more than their prince’s physique to worry about for now, and the man would hardly appreciate the suggestion or the attention. Juimei didn’t linger over his wash, but then he wasn’t as dirty as Wepizi had become. He required a little help to rinse his hair and dry it, and then they were both clean. “Do you want your robe back?” Wepizi asked after he cleared up the buckets, spills and cloths, and set all safely near the door, where no one would trip over them in the dark. All the time, they had to be ready for another earthquake, another aftershock—they were far from safe, and might have to flee at any moment. “I have another—in the wardrobe. Unless you want to get dressed again—there are clothes in there which should fit.” Habit and training made Wepizi get clothes out anyway, ready to pull on if there was an emergency, but there seemed no reason to get dressed if they were going to bed shortly. The way

they were both drooping, that would be soon. The tray was left with the buckets, the lamp dimmed, and then Wepizi could finally lie down on Neime’s comfortable bed. He really felt his age tonight, and though he still felt guilty at enjoying something his soldiers would not be, he was too tired to care right now. “Strange,” the prince murmured. “Normally after a stressful day, I get the most crippling headaches—bad enough to make me want to lie down and weep. But these two days...nothing. Yet, nothing could be more stressful. Why is that, do you think?” “Perhaps because you’re actively taking charge? It’s more stressful to know of a problem and be unable to do anything about it. It’s much harder being a groi than a tezrei, everyone in the army knows that.” “Ah—then maybe that’s it. Sadly, most of the things I deal with, I can’t fix. I guess the headaches will return. I was hoping they were miraculously cured.” “You never know, they might be. Goodnight.” His creaking body melted into the mattress, and he felt himself dozing within moments. But then he remembered—he hadn’t combed his moustache again. It would look like a wild animal under his nose in the morning. Ah well, beloved, you know I meant to. I’ll look after it in the morning, and you look after it tonight. I know you’ve been watching over me these two days. Watch over our prince too, and young Neime. They deserve it. In the darkness, he blew a little kiss to his dearest, and that was the last thing he remembered until morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 15 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was raining when he woke—their decision to risk allowing people back into the buildings had been vindicated, and so, he ruefully admitted, had Juimei’s suggestion that he had to look after himself as well. By Sephiz, he’d needed that night’s rest—getting soft in his old age, that was what it was. He pulled on the borrowed trousers he’d left on the chair near his bed, and by the time he was decent once more, found the prince stretching and yawning himself awake. “Shall I find our breakfast?” Juimei scratched his chin, still not completely alert. “Uh...just find someone and ask. Don’t go wandering around, you’ll just be in their way. It’s raining?” “Yes. Unfortunate, with the funerals.” “Can’t be helped. How did you sleep?” “Like his majesty in his palace,” Wepizi said, and his companion smiled. “You?” “Soundly—but I’m worried about Neime now. Girl or no girl, I’m ordering him out of that infirmary this morning, if I have to use soldiers to do it.” “Let’s see if persuasion works first. Let me get the food.” Early though it was, there were people about, and a manservant came to him almost as soon as he opened the bedroom door—he suspected he’d been hovering, waiting for his master’s call. “Breakfast for the two of us, if you don’t mind?” Wepizi asked politely. “Ah, and the earth closet too.” One basic need attended to, he found a little washroom near by, and threw water over his face. It was all so normal here inside this grand house—no hint of the damage and misery evidenced just a few dozen yards from where he was right now. Like any soldier, he used the unexpected bounty to prepare himself for hardship, because who knew what the day would bring or where he would sleep that night. At the very least, it was good to smell air that didn’t reek of dust and destruction—the rain would have made things better in that way, he hoped. Some of their other residents were up looking for food too, and thinking it was best to get out of the way, he hurried back to the bedroom. The prince was getting dressed, this time needing no assistance. He reached over to a dresser and removed a comb, which he handed to Wepizi. “Please—tame that beast before it attacks someone.” Wepizi grinned, and made use of comb and mirror. “Hmmm, perhaps it needs a trim.” “Perhaps Sephiz will grant us all mercy and your scissors will slip. It’s big enough to give small children nightmares.”

“Nonsense. Children love it. In the settlements, they all want to play with it and tug on it.” “Hah—so even they think it’s some kind of pet.” Wepizi raised an eyebrow at his impertinent host as he returned the comb. “You sound as if you’re jealous of it. My poor moustache does no one any harm, your highness.” “Just don’t turn too quickly, tezrei, or you’ll have someone’s eye out with it.” But the prince was grinning, and Wepizi could take no offence at the teasing. It reminded him of Romi, in a way, and being reminded of his dear friend was never an unpleasant thing. Seeing the prince smile with such genuine humour was also not unpleasant—his face was more suited for smiles than scowls. Juimei was impatient to get back to the square and to check on Neime, and Wepizi saw no reason to dally. His uniform was delivered with their breakfast—and Juimei laughed at his reaction. “They’re very good staff,” he said, chuckling. Wepizi could only stare at his immaculately cleaned—and mended—uniform and sash. Even the efforts of his batman in Tsikiugui, who’d been an absolute fanatic about such things, would have looked slack compared to this. He fingered the silk of his sash, which he thought was ruined beyond repair—and which now was as perfect as the first time he’d worn it. “How can I persuade them to work for me?” “You can’t,” Juimei said smugly. “The Count left them to me, so they’re mine, and I won’t be letting them go anytime soon. They’re national treasures.” “Yes, indeed. Please tell them I am very grateful. Today of all days, I need to look respectable.” The hilarity in the prince’s eyes died. “Ah...yes, of course. Damn—they’ll expect a speech.” “Yes—just speak from the heart, as you did yesterday at the infirmary. That’s all they’ll want. Honesty, respect, and understanding of the loss. Let me get dressed—I won’t be long.” The residence produced cloaks to keep them dry, though the rain was now just drizzle— enough to make people cold and miserable, not enough to make things hazardous or severely impede their progress. He just hoped the graves weren’t full of water. Once again, Juimei mounted a doig for the short trip to the square—Wepizi noted that he had good control at least over the right side of his body, and kept an excellent seat despite his injury. Clearly his riding skills were unaffected, even if his muscles were not as strong as they once had been. He thought the secret to him being able to dismount more easily might be a modified saddle, and resolved to investigate just as soon as they had put this crisis behind them. He looked forward to the time when helping Juimei to ride without help was the biggest problem they had to face. But for now, they had work to do. The air here was cleaner, the rain putting out the last of the fires that had started as houses had collapsed and ovens had cracked open. Later, there would be more fires, deliberately lit—

animals killed in the earthquake, or destroyed because they were too badly injured, had been hauled out near the camp and hung in trees, part of rapidly implemented plans to avoid disease and contamination—their prince had been as quick as Wepizi had been to realise the danger these posed, even more than the immediate violence of the earthquake itself. One of the first things they’d organised had been the setting up of temporary latrines and ensuring efficient removal of the human waste produced by a thousand people camping in the square. Every soldier, every civilian working with them, had had it impressed upon them that the drinking water supply must be kept clean, and the men who normally removed the detritus from household earth closets and middens, were urged to keep working, albeit in vastly different circumstances, as essential to preventing further loss of life as any healer. Their odiferous carts, collecting from the latrines in and around the square, were familiar sights. To Wepizi, it meant they were keeping control on one very dangerous source of disease. He’d seen more people die from diarrhoea and infection after a natural disaster than during the disaster itself, and certainly did not want that here. That was just part of keeping order and restoring normality. Now the rescues were over, and the most urgent needs of life secured, the real clean up, along with the retrieval of precious belongings from the ruins, would begin. The animal carcasses would be butchered and smoked to supply the camp, their remains cremated along with the dead pets and domestic animals too small or inedible to use. Not much else would be burned, though. The town would need all the materials it could lay its hands on, and the broken houses would provide some of the wood for the new, their tiles, mortar and other wreckage making foundations for the stronger buildings that would replace them. When so much was gone, the task seemed overwhelming—but Wepizi had worked in disaster zones before, towns and settlements hit by flood and fire, and this town would rise again, however hopeless it seemed now. It would just take a lot of time, and even more work. The rain-slicked square was quiet, though there were soldiers on guard and a few civilians moving about. Cauldrons of porridge were set out in front the mayor’s residence, ready to be slung on poles and carried to the warehouses, but the weather was discouraging anyone from hanging about for no purpose. They would have to find another place to monitor activities today. There was a shop on the square which might do—a fancy tailor’s by the look of it, catering to the wealthier residents who lived near by. Wepizi whistled up one of his jirens who was walking towards him. “Find out who owns that, and ask them to clear a place for his highness and me to use as headquarters. If they can’t, see if there’s somewhere else close by.” “Yes, sir. I was coming to ask what time we were needed at the grave site.” “Give me an hour and a half—put the word out that his highness will lead prayers here, but we’re only allowing immediate family at the site. Otherwise we’ll end up with a landslide. Organise a squad to keep things under control—ah, make that three squads,” he corrected, as he realised that the families of sixty people might mean an unmanageable number of upset people. “Tinwis Kiein will be leading things.”

“Yes, sir, he’s at the grave site now. He’s been praying there most of the night.” “In the rain? By the benevolent god, get the man something hot to eat—we’ll be another two hours. Tell him Sephiz doesn’t want him to get a lung fever.” The jiren gave him a tired grin. “No, sir. Rather the opposite.” “Then after the funeral, I want to see all the officers at the headquarters, as well as the engineers and the architect. His highness needs status reports.” “Yes, sir.” His highness had gone directly to the infirmary and a soldier now held his doig. Of the prince himself, there was no sign. Wepizi dismounted and passed over the reins of his own animal, then went looking for the governor. He found him at the door of the main ward. Juimei pointed over to the bed of the injured girl —Neime was asleep at her bedside, still holding her hand, his weary face pillowed on his arm. He beckoned Wepizi to move outside. “I won’t disturb him, not yet. Healer?” He crooked his finger at the woman heading towards the ward. “Can you tell me about that patient?” She bowed. “She’s had a quiet night, your highness. The operation went well, the wound looks clean and Sephiz willing, should heal safely. She was in some pain, and young Neime was there to calm her down, but she’s been asleep for several hours. As has he,” she added with a wry smile. “We did try to get him to leave, but in the end, it was good he was here.” “Well he’ll leave if I have to ask the tezrei to carry him. She didn’t say any more about who she was, where she came from?” She shook her head. Her own lined, slightly dirty face showed a good deal of weariness—the medical personnel were stretched very tight, no matter how much help they got from volunteers. “No, your highness, but she really wasn’t coherent with the pain and drugs. I wouldn’t expect her to be up to answering such things today. She wasn’t in very good shape even before the injury—I would say she’s not had quite enough to eat for a girl of her age for some time.” Juimei frowned and looked at Wepizi. “This gets more mysterious all the time. After the funerals, we must speak to that couple who brought her in.” “Yes, your highness.” He turned back to the healer. “When Neime rouses, ask him to find me—you might also like to tell your people that prayers for the dead will be in the square in an hour or so.” “Thank you—many of our patients will want to hear those. We’ll make sure the windows are open. So many lost,” she said, shaking her head. “It could have been so much worse, remember that. And if it weren’t for you and your work, healer, it would have been.” “Sephiz guides our hands and hearts, your highness,” she said with a bow.

Juimei just smiled and thanked her, but as he walked out of the infirmary, his lips were clamped in a thin, angry line. “You don’t agree,” Wepizi said quietly as they made their way across the square to the shop he’d chosen for their operations. “That Sephiz guides them? Because it’s perfectly logical for him to maim a child, and then provide healers to care for her? That’s nonsense, and all so bloody pointless. Why? What purpose does that girl losing her leg serve? What good does me being paralysed down one side, or sixty people dead for the sin of being in their own homes or at their place of work at the wrong time, do? Answer me that, if you can.” “I can’t,” Wepizi said. “And if you think when my wife died, I didn’t ask the same questions, you’re wrong. I don’t think Sephiz directly maims or injures. I don’t think he directly makes a healer able to heal or not, but I believe that he knows what happens to each of us, and wants us to do the best we can, whatever life brings to us. And I believe, at the end, we are taken to his bosom and will live with our loved ones, in happiness. But I don’t know why, and I don’t know how.” He shrugged. “I just believe that there is a reason for this—even if the reason is to show that even in the worst of times, the best of humanity can rise above it all.” “And in the best of times, the worst of humanity can sully innocent lives—you’re army, you’ve seen it.” He gave a little bow in acknowledgement. “Indeed I have, more than you can imagine. I’ve seen people murdered, raped, livelihoods ruined by greed and cruelty, known the most coldblooded criminals do things that make me sick to my stomach to recall. And yet, even at the depths of despair at such appalling acts, I’ve seen love flourish, friendships grow and strengthen.” He fixed his prince with a firm look. “And I’ve seen a man throw off the chains of disability and discover his true talents, even when he thought it impossible. Perhaps, your highness, you had to be crippled before you could truly reach your potential.” Juimei clenched his jaw. “He chose a bloody painful, pointless way of bringing out my talents, if that was all he wanted. You argue well, my friend—you don’t convince. I’m sorry.” “No, I’m sorry that I’ve neither wit nor understanding to convince you. Please, let’s not be at odds over something we simply can never prove, one way or another.” “I don’t wish to quarrel. I respect your faith, even if I can’t share it. Ah...but in the circumstances, may I ask a favour?” Wepizi nodded, puzzled. “For me to offer prayers would be rank hypocrisy. If I make a speech, can I ask you to lead the prayers instead?” “It would be my honour. And I respect your honesty—it would be easier to lie, in the circumstances.” “I’ve nothing to offer the dead but honesty,” Juimei said bleakly. “Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~

The miserable weather suited his mood, Juimei thought, as he snatched a few moments’ peace and a warming mug of drizu. After a surprisingly pleasant evening in the company of their amiable tezrei, it had been a sad, depressing morning. The grief of the bereaved expressed in so many ways—stoicism, wailing, silent tears, the confusion of children unable to comprehend what had happened to brothers, sisters, parents and grand-parents, and not a little anger, blind and unfocussed though it was—had infected the whole population, and cast a gloom over all. The only thing that could be done was to let the grieving bury their loved ones, and push everyone else to keep busy, work to restore their homes and their town, give them a purpose to get past their pain. He had made a short speech, expressing his sorrow at so much loss, and his determination to make sure the deaths were not in vain—he had no idea how much comfort anyone had got from it. More likely Wepizi’s devout, beautiful words in the square, and the simple piety of the holy man at the gravesite, had given them more solace. Juimei could only make sure no one else ever died in this town again because of shoddy building, and be better prepared next time they were struck down in this way. He never again wanted to hear the sound of dozens of families weeping, or the miserable sounds of clods of dirt being thrown into dozens of open graves. The sights, the sounds, would haunt him until he died. Never again. That determination had coloured his discussions with the army engineers, their architect, and the civilians who were assisting them. Their reports were bad news, and now he had to break that to the mayor and the elders. “Oh, how I’m looking forward to this,” he said grumpily as Wepizi came back in and joined him at their desk. The shop wasn’t perfect in any way as headquarters, but with the rain continuing, and the mayoral and governor’s residences both too crowded to use, this was the best on offer. He could have ordered some kind of structure erected next to the podium, but there were so many better things to use carpenters for right now. “Facts are facts, Jui. Not even the mayor can alter what we know now. I did have one question for you—what did he say to make you throw a glass at him?” Juimei gave him an irritated look. “Is that the most important thing on your mind, tezrei, for I swear, I thought you had other concerns.” “I meant no offence, your highness. I was merely curious.” Wepizi’s mild tone and his always kind eyes took the sting out of his impertinence. “We were discussing a new tax on heavily dyed gem-cloth—you probably realise it commands a much higher price, but it also uses a lot more manpower, resources, and clean water. My father wants to discourage its large-scale production as much as possible, because it’s an unnecessary luxury and there’s no real demand or need for it in large quantities in Andon. The local market is well supplied by the cloth mills in Visiqe, and indeed, Visiqe is the biggest user of the cloth in the first place. But the mayor makes a tidy sum out of exporting it to Kuprij, so he felt the need to express his annoyance in terms which insulted my father’s intelligence, his breeding and his loyalty to

Andon. He lost his temper, and so did I. The way he complained, you’d think I’d cut his throat. I almost wish I had, instead of just throwing my water glass. He’s a grasping, stupid, arrogant bastard and I’d happily drop him into a vat of his own paper pulp. However, he’s under the impression I’ve been deliberately obstructing his grandiose plans, which I haven’t. I don’t need to —my father and the council would never approve most of them anyway.” “Ah. While I don’t approve of violence, your anger is understandable. However, we who lead must learn to rein in our emotions, for the sake of those who follow us.” Juimei snorted. “You don’t strike me as that much of a cold fish, tezrei. I bet you lose your temper plenty of times.” His companion only grinned. “Then I find some unfortunate officer to have a spar with.” “Not an option for me, is it?” “Your highness, a few days ago you said you wouldn’t be able to ride, and yet you rode into the square this morning.” “Two different things.” “Perhaps. Ah, welcome, your honour,” he said politely, rising as Gixiel and the elders came to the door. It was very cramped, the tailor’s stock pushed as far back in the small showroom as they could make it, and the mannequins piled in a heap in the corner, but the counter was fixed and huge, as were the shelves and drawers that held the expensive trimmings for the equally expensive cloth. He and Wepizi sat at a small table in front of the counter, which only left a few square feet for others to stand or sit on the few stools at their disposal. This certainly didn’t help tempers, but they were a threatened species anyway. As Juimei explained the decisions he had come to after detailed discussions and reports by their specialists, the mayor grew red in the face, then finally slammed his fists down on the desk. “No, by Sephiz’s beard, I will not allow this! First your father, now you! You’re trying to ruin me—me personally!” The twelve elders kept their counsel—embarrassed at the mayor’s reaction, or waiting to see if he could change their governor’s mind? Juimei didn’t know, and didn’t care. “Mayor Gixiel, if you have a better idea, then, please, let me know it.” “Of course I have a better idea! We send for troops from the south and Tsikiugui, we recall all the soldiers in from the region, and we fix the bridge, clear the road, and rebuild the houses! It only takes manpower and the will to do it, you fool!” Wepizi cleared his throat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes as it usually did. “Your honour, would you please refrain from calling his highness names? As an officer of the crown, I’ll be forced to take note of it, since he’s acting as his majesty’s proxy.” “Damn you, tezrei, keep out of this, you know nothing about my business concerns!”

“Nor should he, your honour,” Juimei said, bathing his words in acid politeness. “Since the tezrei’s concern is the health and prosperity of all Andonese citizens, not just the wealthier ones.” “You—” Elder Hariz put his hand on the mayor’s arm. “Gixiel,” he muttered. “Calm down. Your highness, it won’t just be his honour’s mills that will have to close if we send so many people south.” “I’m aware of that, Elder Hariz. But even starting now, we can only guarantee winter-proof accommodation for two-thirds of our people. We can’t house them indefinitely in the stores buildings, and only the youngest, fittest people can be asked to stay in the army tents, not that we have enough of them—and there’s the problem of the damaged lock. It will take a hundred skilled men a month or more to try and raise that boat and repair the lock—a hundred men we need for other tasks. In time, we might raise it—but winter will be here in five months, whatever we do. Our need is for homes, now. And if we can’t house, we must evacuate. I’m deeply aware of the problems this will cause in the short-term. It’s not personal,” he said, with a hard glance at the still red-faced mayor. “Call for more soldiers!” “It will be a month before we get anyone from Nedriz, and they don’t have a large detachment. Two months before they can send soldiers from Tsikiugui, longer from Visiqe or elsewhere. We have to start now, Mayor Gixiel, and we need the new barracks built and the old one rebuilt. It’s the only way we can house enough people quickly. If we have time and energy after that, then the bridge, the river, the mines, will all be dealt with.” “I’ll be ruined,” the mayor moaned. “My customers—” The shallow puddle of sympathy Juimei had for a businessman facing difficult times, dried up like spit on a stove. “Are simply not my concern,” he interrupted coldly. “Your mills bring wealth to the town, that’s true, though I might wish it was shared a little more generously. But they’re not the only industry, the only activity. If it’s a choice between the mills and the farms, the farms win.” “You’re incompetent! We shall complain to his majesty, have you impeached, removed, expelled from this region!” Juimei wiped off the spittle which had flown as the man raged at him, amazed at how icily calm he felt, when once he’d have bellowed back just as angrily. “As you wish, your honour. Anyone else feel the same way?” There was a sudden shuffling of bottoms and feet, and a distinct lack of anyone meeting his eyes—or the mayor’s. “Come, come, surely others of you want me removed.” Elder Frankel cleared his throat. “Our brother, his honour...speaks a little hastily, your highness. Out of concern for his workers, of course.” Juimei had to struggle to keep the ironic sneer off his face at the idea of Gixiel giving a damn about his workers unless they were making

him money—the man would have used slaves and small children if he could have got away with it, and only very strict laws, enforced with inspections, made his mills half-way decent places to work. “What you propose...seems, in the circumstances...reasonable.” “Frankel! You traitor!” Juimei ignored the mayor. “Is that the feeling of the rest of you?” There was a collective nodding of heads, and a careful avoidance of the mayor’s angry glare. “Then your cooperation in this matter is appreciated. Be assured I have asked for help from the south, and I’m sure it will be forthcoming—but our need is not just for manpower, it’s for materials, and we will all feel the pinch of that in the coming months. The army are going to keep trying to solve the problem. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.” The elders urged the mayor to get up and leave before he said something that would get him locked up. It was a real relief to have the door shut behind them all. Juimei sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Does he really think I would put two hundred people out of work for spite?” “He doesn’t see the whole picture. Fortunately, he’s not governor,” Wepizi said. “I doubt that’s a widespread sentiment—the man’s popular, or at least, feared, and influential through fear. Half the town either owes him money or works for him in some way. But he’s still a buffoon. I—” The door opened, and Juimei looked up. “Ah, come to grace us with your presence, milord Neime?” His page looked sheepish, rumpled and tired. He’d been a solemn-faced presence at the funerals, and had then disappeared—Juimei hadn’t had a chance to have a single word with him. “Sorry for abandoning you—Laovei didn’t want me to leave.” “Laovei? So our mystery child has a name now. Do you know more about her than that?” Neime sat down, and rested his chin on his hand. “She’s seventeen, nearly eighteen, and uh...that’s it. She won’t answer any other questions, though that might because she’s so upset about her friend, Timinke.” Juimei turned to Wepizi. “We have to get to the bottom of this, and soon. If we have a child maimed, another killed, because they weren’t with their parents.... Neime, she’s not suffering a head wound or confusion, perhaps?” “Not that the healers can see. She seems rather frightened—but like I said, it’s mostly upset. Um...I said I’d go back this afternoon, and, um....” “No, Neime,” Juimei said firmly. “You’re not sleeping in the infirmary again. You’re just in their way, and she’s being cared for.” “Please? Just tonight—she’s been crying all morning over Timinke and about her leg. She’s asleep now, but she’s so afraid, and sad.” “She’s just one of many, lad.” But Neime used his wide, expressive eyes on him, and Juimei had no power to resist those—never had done. “Aren’t you tired?” he asked in a gentler tone.

“Yes, but—” Wepizi interrupted. “Neime, the attention you’re giving to her, could be used to organise the infirmary, which was the job you were given. Doesn’t that bother you?” “But I can do both! I’ve been sorting out things, and also visiting her. I know it’s important —but I just...want to help. I want to feel I can make a difference, at least to one person in all this.” “Oh, Neime,” Juimei said, shaking his head. “You are making a difference. But do as you wish—on the condition that your duties in the infirmary come first. If I find out you’ve neglected those in favour of this girl, I’ll send you away in disgrace. You are a public official like me, and at this time, we have a higher responsibility. Do you understand?” “Yes, I do.” “Right. Then before you go back to the infirmary, go eat, head back to the residence and change, preferably wash too. You’re still my page, and I expect you to maintain a respectable image, regardless.” “Yes, Jui,” he said, grinning widely. “Thank you.” “Hmpf, you’re indulged, that’s all it is. Now, go find your lunch. I suggest you eat at the residence—people were worried about you.” “Yes, I will. I’ll be back in an hour.” “You should have a nap too.” “No time! See you!” He ran out the door, looking like a child half his age, and not at all like someone who’d had about four hours sleep and a long day and night before it. Juimei turned to Wepizi, who was grinning behind his hand. “Disrespect from all quarters. Some vice-regent I’m turning out to be.” “Neime loves you, you know that. I, uh...don’t think his honour does, though.” Juimei shuddered. “Sephiz’s beard, don’t put images like that into my head. I think his wife died just to get away from him.” The sudden stiffening of the tezrei’s expression reminded Juimei of the gaffe he’d made. “Oh...I’m sorry, Wepizi, I didn’t mean—” But Wepizi dismissed his apology with a wave of his hand. “I know you didn’t, though I should chide you for the lack of charity. However...I don’t blame you, all things considered.” He stood and rubbed his chin. “I’m going to find that farming couple, ask them some more about that girl. Perhaps drop in to visit her later. You’re right—this is worrying.” “I’ll leave it to you—she’s more likely to respond to you since you say children like that outrageous growth under your nose.” Wepizi grinned, clearly becoming immune to his rudeness. “Ah...and just see how Neime’s doing too.” “I will. But first, I’ll find us our lunch. I am, by the looks of it, back to being your honorary page.”

“Looks like. Damn that boy,” he muttered. Such a big heart, and bound to have it broken. Damn this girl too. And just where had she come from?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 16 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wepizi stroked his moustache thoughtfully as he walked back across the square, having come from the mayoral residence and a thoroughly unhelpful interview with two tired farmers. No, sir, we don’t know who she is, and we don’t know where she could have come from. Yes, we do know all them that live round here, and there be no children that age that we don’t know. It was impossible that two children of working age could not be known to locals—and they weren’t registered in the census, because he’d had one of Juimei’s clerks check it at the residence. So that left the girl herself, which was why he was going to the infirmary, turning the puzzle over in his mind, even as he stopped to talk to one of his soldiers. She had a message from lep Tovoi to say one of the site cranes was more damaged than they thought at first and so they would have to delay matters while it was fixed. Then a civilian came up to confront him, demanding to know when the army would help him retrieve his family’s clothes from his collapsed house. Another asked humbly when they could put a proper marker on his father’s grave. Half a dozen times in a journey of five hundred yards, he had to pause and answer questions, reassure, placate and comfort. The army got a lot of criticism in some quarters—strange how it was the first place people turned to for help in a crisis. But he was used to the dichotomy, and did what he could, while never deviating from his path. At last he reached the infirmary, and was told where to find Neime and the girl. He washed his hands carefully and hung his jacket up outside, as directed. The ward was busy—medics, helpers, attending to bandaged, pale people, all of whom looked very ill indeed. By a bed in the corner, Neime was talking to the girl, who was awake, though just as ill and tired as the other patients, and clearly in pain. She still didn’t look seventeen, and was, as the healer had noted, rather thin. Her hair was long, shaggily cut, and gave her a rather ragged, waif-like air. Decently fed, and in good health, she might have been pretty, but now she was just frail and sick, another victim of nature’s fury. Neime smiled as he approached. “Hello, Wepizi. Laovei, this is my friend, Wepizi, from the army.” “Greeting, Laovei,” Wepizi said with a deep bow. “How are you feeling?” She tried to sit up a little. “Uh...I’m fine,” she said in a faint, weak voice that made a liar of her words. She seemed rather uncertain about him, looking to Neime for reassurance. He patted her hand. “It’s all right, Laovei—Wepizi’s very kind. Don’t be afraid.”

“I won’t hurt you, my dear. No one will—all we want to do is get you well and home to your family.” She looked rather uncomfortable at his use of the word. “I’m most sorry about your friend. I doubt he suffered at all—the healer said he wouldn’t have known what hit him.” Her bottom lip trembled. “All my fault,” she whispered. “I begged and begged for him to take me to see the doigs and then we got caught in the barn. We shouldn’t have been there.” “Take you? In a cart?” She looked away. “Where do his family live, Laovei? They deserve to know their child’s fate.” A deep breath. “A long way away. I don’t know where he came from.” Wepizi frowned. “Then how do you know him? How long had you known him?” She still refused to answer. “I know you don’t want to answer these things, but there’s a family who’ve lost a son, and your family who will be worried about you. We need to get them word, so they can come and take you home.” She turned red-rimmed eyes on him. “They’ll come,” she said quietly, determinedly. “You don’t need to do anything. I just need to wait.” “I don’t understand, my dear.” She twisted her head towards her new champion and protector, rejecting Wepizi completely. “Neime, please...I’m so tired.” Neime squeezed her hand. “It’s all right. You try and get some sleep.” He looked up, biting his lip. “Uh, Wepizi, I don’t think this is the time....” But Wepizi wasn’t finished—not by a long way. “Neime, a word, please? Outside?” Reluctantly Neime agreed, after reassuring the girl he would be back soon. Outside in the corridor, he tugged the lad into a quiet niche, keeping out of the way of the medics and healers rushing past, armfuls of sheets and bandages being carried to their patients’ bedside. Wepizi folded his arms. “Has she said anything more than that?” “Not to me. It’s very odd, I grant you—but with her being so ill and upset, I didn’t want to push her.” “We can’t indulge her forever. I’m wondering if she was engaged in some criminal activity, though the only possibilities seem more than a child her age would be involved in.” But we only have her word for her age, Wepizi thought. And she certainly had Neime under her thrall. “I know you want to help her, but I think it might be best....” A polite female voice interrupted him. “Tezrei? Excuse me, sir, but I think you need to come.” Wepizi turned and found one of his medics waiting to speak to him. “What’s happened, Medic Furniw?” “Sir, two people have turned up—they say they’re that girl’s brother and sister.” Neime blinked at him in astonishment. “How could they know she was here?”

Wepizi signalled for him to be quiet. “Let me speak to them—but no one visits that girl without my say so.” “Yes, sir. That’s them there—the young couple.” Wepizi followed the line of her finger, and saw a youth and a young woman, neither apparently much older than Laovei’s claimed age—both thin, dressed rather roughly, and twitching nervously as people walked past them, as if they didn’t like to be touched. The boy was a red-head, unusual in this part of Andon—the girl was quite ordinary, though both of them, like Laovei, had long, untidy hair, as if their families had no idea how to cut it neatly. Neither of them were particularly dirty, but the shabby clothes, the underweight bodies, gave a sense of deprivation. Strange to see it here, away from the cities where one sometimes saw it among the poor. Here, people valued appearances, respectability, even in deep poverty. So why were these three children so different? “Neime, come with me, please.” Wepizi walked towards the pair, smiling warmly. “Welcome, my friends. I am Wepizi, Tezrei of this region and this is Neime, page to his highness, the governor. You’re friends of Laovei?” The youth—the older of the two, it looked like, though far from being a full-grown man— nodded. “We’ve come to take her home. Where is she?” “You can’t take her,” Neime burst out. “Didn’t they tell you? She’s been badly hurt—she’s lost her right foot.” The girl covered her mouth in shock, and tugged on the youth’s arm. “Jozin?” He put his hand over hers, but regarded Wepizi steadily. “We can care for her. Just let us take her home.” “And where might that be, my friend? Jozin, is it? And your name, miss?” The girl cringed behind the lad, and shook her head, refusing to answer. “I’m sorry, but you can’t just walk into an infirmary and demand to remove a patient without giving the smallest account of yourselves. Why don’t you come outside and—” The boy would not be moved, and his thin features froze into a haughty expression. “She’s my sister. I have a right. I want to see her, now.” Wepizi lifted an eyebrow. “Your sister, hmmm? You don’t look much alike, Jozin. Where are you from? Where are your parents?” “None of your business.” Cold, imperious voice, but behind it, fear. The hauteur was just an act. “Ah, but it is, I’m sorry. I have a care for all the people in this region under his highness’s authority. Answer my questions honestly, Jozin, and you can see the girl—or you’ll have to leave.” “You can’t stop me.” He raised his hand. Wepizi, thinking he was about to strike, or pull a weapon, moved instinctively to block him—but the movement got no further than the intent,

because he found himself frozen in his place, unable to speak, move, or struggle. “But I can stop you.” It was a like a waking night terror—being aware, hearing every word, but he couldn’t even move his smallest finger, despite desperately trying to do that. Neime realised something was wrong, and just as quickly realised who was behind it. “Stop it!” he shouted at Jozin. “Leave him alone! What are you doing? Stop it!” He suddenly flung himself at the lad, and Jozin, caught off-balance, fell against the wall. The girl cried out in fear, and pulled at Neime, struggling with him and Jozin both. It distracted Jozin long enough. Whatever he was doing to Wepizi, stopped quite suddenly, and he could move again. He used the freedom to make a lunge for them both. “Stop it! Both of you!” As the boy raised his hand, memories of conversations he’d had with Romi and Karik over the last couple of years, gave him the clues he needed, and he suddenly realised who and what he had to be dealing with. “Jozin, please—I know what you are!” His words had the most dramatic effect. Jozin stopped, looking as frozen as Wepizi had been moments before, and stared at him with naked terror in his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, cringing, sounding much younger than the twenty or so that he appeared to be. Wepizi put his hands on the lad’s shoulders, but this time to reassure, not to restrain. Neime had his arms around the girl—she looked as terrified as her friend, her eyes wide with fear. Wepizi spoke to them both, keeping his voice low, reassuring. “I won’t tell anyone who’ll harm you, I swear. But you must not hurt people, Jozin.” He gave him a stern look. “You know what I mean by that, don’t you? Hurting people? Even accidentally?” “Yes.” The word was just the tiniest sound, the sound of a frightened child. Wepizi had guessed right, and now he had some idea what was going on. He took his hands off the lad, who made no move to escape. All his bravado had wilted in mere moments. “Sir? Is there a problem?” He only glanced at his soldier to acknowledge her. “No, medic, no problem. I’ll handle it. Is there somewhere we can talk to these young people in privacy?” She bowed. “Give me a minute, sir,” she said, then went off. Wepizi continued to look at Jozin, imposing control by his will, trying to impart calm authority to a frightened child who could bring this building down around their ears if he lost his temper. “What’s happening? Who is he, Wepizi?” Wepizi didn’t look at Neime. “It’s all right, I’ll explain later.” He spared a glance for the terrified girl. “What’s your name, my dear?”

She looked at Jozin for assurance, but he was paying her no heed as he stared at Wepizi. “Iome, sir,” she said in little more than a whisper. “Well, Iome, if you and Jozin can stay calm, and don’t hurt or threaten anyone, I’ll take you in to see Laovei. But Neime was telling the truth—she’s very ill, and in no way ready to be moved. If you take her from here, you could end up killing her. I know you don’t want that, do you?” She shook her head. “Didn’t think so. So I’ll take you in to see her, and then you and Jozin and Neime and I will have a chat—and maybe something hot to eat.” He didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up—hers and the lad’s too. He reached out and offered his hand, as politely as he would to a lady at court. “May I?” Hesitantly, she took his hand—hers was ice-cold in her terror. He squeezed it gently. “No one will hurt you, my dear. My job is helping people, not hurting them. Jozin?” The lad eased away from the wall, still wary. “What are you going to do about us?” “For now, I’m going to take you to see your friend, who I’m sure wants to see you. You heard about Timinke?” He nodded, his mouth turning down sadly—Wepizi didn’t ask how, because there were several ways a Blessed might have of learning such news. This boy, likely both of them, were two of the almost mythical beings, those with incredible powers and abilities, who had been nothing but rumours for decades. And they had just turned up here, right under his nose. Astonishing. But also, worrying. Time to worry later. He tugged gently on Iome’s hand. “This way.” He put his hand out to Jozin, but the lad refused, shaking his head—from pride or fear, he didn’t know. “Please—both of you, remember. The ward is full of sick people, all afraid, all in pain. Your friend is just one.” At the door, he got them to wash their hands, then asked Neime to wait for him—there was little enough room in the ward, and four people would crowd it unbearably. He led them in, and Iome, spotting her friend, gave a little cry of distress. “Shhh,” Wepizi whispered. “Calm down, Iome,” Jozin snapped, pushing his way past Wepizi, clearly having got over his shock a little. Wepizi would have restrained him, but the lad was calmer now, and only intent on reaching Laovei’s bedside, so Wepizi just kept his hand on Iome and followed. When Laovei saw Jozin, her pale face split in a huge smile. “Joz! I knew you’d come! Iome!” Iome rushed over, and the two girls embraced, then Iome dragged down Jozin. They were huddled together for some time, but Wepizi thought it was better not to impose on Laovei’s endurance. He cleared his throat, and with an embarrassed look, Iome sat up. Jozin stood and scowled while Laovei cast an anxious look at Wepizi.

“It’s all right, Laovei. They wanted to know how you were, and we’ve explained about...your foot. Iome, just five minutes now. You can come back later.” She nodded, but then rather to Wepizi’s surprise, said nothing, just looked at her friend, watching her intently. Recalling what he knew of the Darshianese Blessed, and what Karik had told him about his mother, he realised they had to be talking in their minds, and wondered who was listening in—and from where. There was much he needed to find out. The silent ‘conversation’ was an eerie thing to watch, but it seemed to be reassuring to all three, and when Wepizi said it was time to leave, there was no argument. “Sir...where’s Neime?” Laovei asked. “Outside, my dear—and he’ll return soon. Your friends need a meal, and you need rest. They’ll be close by, I promise, but we have to clear the ward. People need to sleep.” She stared for a moment, perhaps listening to someone explaining something to her, then she nodded. “All right. Joz, Iome, you’ll take me home soon?” “Soon as we can,” Jozin said, glaring at Wepizi. “No one will stop us.” “No one will try, my friend—but you can see for yourself how ill she is. Come, let’s talk.” Medic Furniw was waiting with Neime, and as soon as they came out of the ward, told Wepizi they could use the library to talk, explained it was on the floor above them. “Thank you,” he said. “Could you have someone send a message to his highness and say I’ve been delayed, and then would you make sure that there’s hot food for these two young people. Make it generous.” “Yes, sir.” She was clearly a little uncertain about the strangers, but too well-disciplined to argue with her superior. She saluted and went off. “Come, my friends. Let’s have a little privacy.” Neime led the way to the library. It was an airy room with many high-set windows—some of which were cracked, though none, most surprisingly, were missing. There were shelves of books, and tables where healers and medics could read papers, discuss patients, perhaps escape their worries for a while. Being upstairs, it was little use for patient accommodation, so had escaped the crowding below, and was a surprising well of peace in this busy building. Wepizi suspected it had been cleared just for his use, and regretted depriving hard-working staff of such comfort, but he really did need a private place to have this conversation. The library made some impression on their two guests, who stared at everything as if they had never seen its like before. “Sit,” he urged, taking a seat himself. Jozin and Iome obeyed, but their courage failed them again. “When can we take her home?” Iome asked timidly. “Neime?”

Neime folded his hands. “It will be some time before the stump heals, and longer before she can wear a false foot. Not for two months at least, so the healer said. Longer before she can walk with any ease. It’ll probably be six months before she doesn’t need medical care of some sort.” “Too long,” Jozin said stubbornly. “We can take care of her at home.” “And where is that, my friend?” Wepizi asked. “Jozin, you can glare at me all you want, but I must have an answer. We can’t help her—or you—if I don’t.” “Don’t need your help. Don’t need any of you damn normals,” Jozin snapped in a near shout. “Maybe not, but I would still like to offer the hand of friendship. How many of you are there?” “None of your business. None of this is anything to do with you. We don’t need you, we don’t want anything to do with you.” “Why do you hate us?” Neime said in a puzzled voice. “Wepizi, who are these people?” He kept his eyes on Jozin as he answered. “Jozin and Iome are the Blessed—what the Darshianese call Gifted.” Jozin sneered. “‘Blessed’—‘Cursed’ more like. I know the things you normals have done to my kind in the past. We won’t ever let it happen again.” “That was many years ago,” Wepizi said calmly, ignoring Neime’s confusion. “The warlords are long ago defeated and driven from our land, and the Blessed are no longer persecuted.” “So you say, old man, but people still fear us, want us gone. Even our families—” His mouth snapped shut. “You won’t tell us what to do.” “No, I won’t, for I know I can’t, and I know what you can do, my friend. Iome—what power do you have?” “Don’t tell him!” Jozin yelled. “It’s a trick!” “Peace, Jozin—it’s just a question.” This would be more difficult than he knew how to deal with, and wished he had Romi by his side, to show he meant none of the Blessed harm. “Are you the leaders of your group? Do you speak for the rest of you?” “How do you know there’s any more of us?” Wepizi just looked at him. “Yes. I’m the leader,” he said, throwing out his thin chest, though the startled look on Iome’s face immediately made a liar of him. Wepizi allowed the lie, for now. “In that case—can I at least ask if anyone else was hurt? Did Timinke have a family who need to be told of his death?” “We’re his family. We’re the only family we have. I told you—we don’t have anything to do with normals!” “I still don’t understand,” Neime said, breaking in. “At a time like this, we all help each other—why are you so angry when we just want to help Laovei, and you and the others if they

need it? Why do you hate us, when I’ve never even met you before? Why do you hate Wepizi when he’s trying to help?” “Because you’re our enemy!” Neime sat back, eyebrows raised in some surprise. “I’m not. How can I be when I’ve never even heard of you before?” “Neime, Jozin and his kind were persecuted during the time of the warlords, and they all fled to refuges, or so I’m guessing.” Jozin refused to confirm this, his mouth clamped shut as he glared at Wepizi. “I think whoever gathered Jozin and his friends together is trying to stop them being hurt again, an admirable thing. But, my friend—no one here is trying to hurt you.” “Jozin, listen to him.” Wepizi sat bolt upright in shock as a woman’s voice entered his head. Neime blinked, equally surprised. “My apologies, tezrei, for his rudeness, and for my listening to your conversation. I am Nuveize.” He hastily gathered his wits. “I am pleased to meet you, Nuveize.” It was most peculiar to be talking to the thin air like this. “Nuve, why do you trust this man?” Jozin’s angry ‘voice’ was a match for his stony expression. “He knows, Jozin. He has friends a little like us, and he knows what happened to our people. He’s really trying to help. Please—you have to listen to him. I know you won’t listen to me, but you can trust him. I’ve seen his mind.” “Just make him forget, like the others—we can take Laovei and go!” “No, you can’t!” Neime said. “She could start to bleed again, she could get an infection and die! Please, Nuveize,” he begged the empty air. “Tell him it’s no lie. Please—don’t let them take her away.” Her voice was gentle, calm—she was apparently used to handling Jozin and his temper. “Joz, listen to him. I’ve read the minds of the healers, and he’s telling the truth. We’ve lost Timinke—don’t make me lose Laovei too.” Iome put her hand on Jozin’s arm. “Maybe you should listen, Joz. She’s right—we don’t want to lose someone else.” Jozin shrugged her off, his thin face showing the war within him, struggling between fear and the need for the assistance of the hated normals. “How can we trust them?” “Sometimes, you just have to, Joz. Wepizi—will you really look after them?” “You know it. But I’ll have to report your existence, Nuveize—the king and council have been desperate to locate the Blessed for these many years past.” “Ha! Told you! He’s a spy!”

“Joz, don’t be silly, he’s just a soldier. Wepizi—I could make you forget you’d ever seen them, you know.” “If you were going to do that, I feel you would have already, my dear. But you need us, don’t you?” Silence. Jozin continued to give them all the evil eye, while Iome bit her lip anxiously. They were both so young and so frightened, Wepizi thought, and decided that like all young, frightened wild things, a bit of kindness and providing basic needs was as good a way to win their hearts as any other. “Since there’s nothing more we can do here, why don’t we get you some hot food, and then I can introduce you to our governor. If you’re going to do something to my mind, I suppose I can’t stop you—but Nuveize, my memories are precious to me. I beg you to do them no harm.” “You can trust me too, Wepizi. Look after my children, and no harm will befall you.” “Your...children?” He was pretty sure that none of the Blessed could have children. Romi had been quite adamant on the subject. “A figure of speech.” He could hear the slight smile in her voice. “Joz, Iome, all is well. Trust him, I beg you, and Joz, hold onto your temper.” “No one will touch you while under my protection, Jozin, Iome. Come along.” Even though Jozin could have crushed him like the weakest insect—as, he had to assume, could the timid Iome as well—Wepizi decided to take a firmly guiding role, chivvying them like the children they were, or not long from being. Downstairs, Neime made enquiries, and they were directed to the small refectory the staff used when conditions were normal, and where even now, the many assistants, medics and healers could snatch a bite to eat and a quick break. It was long past the lunch hour, but there were still a dozen weary people drinking tea, eating a late meal, or dozing, heads leaning against the wall. Wepizi squeezed their two guests into a corner, and sent Neime to bring bowls of stew, flat camp bread, and mugs of drizu, heavily sweetened. Jozin and Iome fell on them as if they were starving —from the look of them, they might well be. Wepizi itched to learn more, but though he could have asked Nuveize, he felt it was better for Jozin and Iome to tell him themselves, and before that could happen, they had to learn to trust. He could almost see hollow cheeks filling out as they ate, and Neime rose to get seconds without needing to be asked. At least there was enough food—stores of supplies were good, and more arrived each day, since farmers who still had to make a living, brought in produce already harvested. Some had suffered damage on their farms, and were coming in to the town to seek help along with selling their goods. Supplies might dry up soon enough, but for now, these two youngsters could eat their fill.

A third bowl of stew each, and at last their hunger was sated. “Want more?” Wepizi asked. Both shook their heads. “You look like you needed that. Are the others hungry? Do they need food too?” Jozin, who had relaxed minutely, stiffened, and gave Wepizi a dirty look. “Another trick!” Wepizi raised his hand. “Concern only, my friend. Laovei is clearly underfed, so are you— I’m worried there are other young people going hungry.” “Joz, tell him. You know we need his help,” Iome begged, tugging on his sleeve. “No, we don’t. I don’t care what you said or Nuve says. Iome, he’s a normal! You know what they’ve done to us.” She bit her lip and sank back. “He doesn’t seem so bad,” she muttered. “And the food was nice.” Neime gave her an encouraging smile. “Could we...maybe take some back with us?” “Iome!” Wepizi ignored the outburst and smiled at her. “My dear, if we can spare the supplies, of course. It would help to know what you need and for how many though.” “Iome, he’s trying to trick you!” “Don’t you get sick of being so terrified of everyone?” Neime said mildly, looking the lad in the eye. “Shut up. I want to see Laovei again.” Wepizi sighed gently. “I should report to Prince Juimei. Neime, why don’t you take our young friends along, and then bring them over to his highness’s office later? We need to find somewhere for you both to sleep—I assume you won’t be leaving while Laovei is so ill?” Jozin suddenly looked unsure, and Iome tugged on his sleeve. “Joz, we can’t leave—” “I know, shut up.” He chewed on his lower lip, shredding a bit of bread in nervous fingers. “One night. Then we take her home.” “No!” Wepizi held up his hand to silence Neime. “One night and we talk about it. Right now, Laovei’s safety is the most important issue, I’m sure you agree. Don’t you? Jozin? You don’t want her to get worse, do you? She’s suffered so much. She needs to be treated very carefully, don’t you think?” After a long stare, Jozin nodded reluctantly. “But if you hurt her—” “We won’t. Neime? Iome, please, my dear, you must be very calm around her. Will you do that?” “Yes, sir.” “Don’t call him ‘sir’,” Jozin muttered. “You’re not my master,” he said to Wepizi, chin tilted in defiance.

“Indeed not, for I’m a servant of the people, not the other way around. And I’m at your service, and that of Iome, and Laovei too,” he said with a little bow, which made Iome smile slightly. “Now, one of my other masters needs my attendance. Please, go with Neime.” He made sure to exude as powerful an air of trustworthiness and amiability as he could until their extraordinary visitors had left with Neime. “He’s a handful, that one.” He started—this form of communication would take some getting used to. “He’s brave and protective. Is he your leader?” “No, not really. But perhaps the bravest one of us. Wepizi, we need your help—but we’re afraid. He doesn’t exaggerate, you know.” “No, I know.” He remembered what Karik had told him of his Gifted friends in Darshek, and how so many had been abandoned by frightened families. “I need your help, Nuveize. And I think we might need theirs. Is there any hope of winning his trust?” “Maybe. He’s always been headstrong, but he’s no fool. I don’t want to lose any more of my family. You know what it’s like to grieve.” “I do indeed. I need to speak to his highness—I can ask him to keep the secret, but I can’t demand it.” “I can. But I won’t. We’re at the end of our means. If you can’t convince Jozin, I fear for our survival.” “I’ll do what I can. I take it none of you can get away from where you are, without him?” “There’s more to it than that. Do your best. I know your heart is pure, and so is that of your Neime. Keep faith with Jozin and let him see that.” Though she couldn’t have seen it, he bowed a little. “I swear it, by Sephiz and by Lema’s memory.” “Then I know you’ll keep your word. Good luck.” There was a slight...emptiness...in his mind, and he realised she had withdrawn. He wished he had more information, but he understood why the Blessed were so cautious. He had to overcome that—too much was at stake not to. It had stopped raining, and the sun was shining on wet stone as he came out. The sudden brightness made him blink, and its warmth and light had drawn people out of their shelters, moving with purpose, many carrying tools, lumber, sacks with food or possessions—all getting on with repairing their lives. There were farmers’ carts too, bringing the precious supplies of produce and wood, and more news, inevitably, of more deaths, more destruction. He was anxious for word from the outstations—only with their reports, would they really know how widespread the earthquake’s malice was, and how many more Andonese had lost their lives. Nuveize’s powers could be of such use in their vast, empty country, he thought wistfully.

In his makeshift office, Juimei was talking to one of the elders, so Wepizi waited patiently until the woman was dismissed. Then he closed the door—the prince raised an eyebrow at his presumption. “Where have you been? And where’s Neime? I’ve been abandoned on all fronts,” he complained, though without particular heat. “My apologies, Jui—there’s been something of a surprising development.” He took a seat and described as succinctly as he could, what had occurred, and who had descended on them. Juimei listened without revealing a thing through his reaction, but when Wepizi had finished, he picked up a pencil in his good hand and regarded it thoughtfully. “Sephiz’s beard, Wepizi. Do you know what this means?” “His majesty will want to know—but Nuveize doesn’t want you to tell him. It goes against my orders, of course.” “And mine. However, my father’s a long way away, and we have more immediate issues. The girl can’t be moved. You really believe her friends are in desperate straits?” “I have no details, but once you meet them, you can see for yourself. We won’t know the rest of it until we convince Jozin and Iome that we can be trusted, and we’ll only do that by showing good faith.” “Why would we not?” Juimei asked curtly. “They’re my concern, same as any other citizen in this region. If they pose a threat, we’ll deal with it. If they need our help, they’ll have it, or what we can give them. But even precious and special as they are, I won’t endanger anyone else to help them. The greatest good of the greatest number, that’s all we can offer.” “Yes, I know.” But he couldn’t help but feel that if they did have to abandon Nuveize and her family to their fate, it would be a tragedy and a tremendous loss to their nation. Besides—he already liked her, and wanted to help for her own sake. Not that he didn’t want to help everyone, but he could want to help some more. Juimei tapped Wepizi’s wrist with the pencil he held. “Come on, man—we’ll do our best. But now we have work to do.” Wepizi brought his mind back to the many other tasks demanding his attention. One bright spot was one of his grois turning up to say they had managed to retrieve some of his personal possessions from the barracks, along with more urgently needed equipment and items. “Have them delivered to my residence, groi,” Juimei said, still writing a note on a report from the mayor, not even lifting his eyes as he spoke. “And let them know that he and two other people will need accommodating in my room, or close by.” Wepizi looked at him in surprise. “Your highness?”

Juimei met his gaze, revealing nothing in his expression. “I’ll explain shortly. Can you do that, groi? The tezrei will be sleeping up there for the foreseeable future.” “Yes, your highness. I’ll tell lep Tovoi, sir?” “Yes, thank you. Carry on, Groi.” The prince waited until she left before clearing his throat. “Ah...in the interest of discretion and security, I’d like you to take personal charge of these two youngsters. Keep rumours from flying about—if they’re as skittish as you say, the fewer people they have to deal with, the better. Do you agree?” “Yes, I do. I can’t stay at the residence forever. It’s bad for morale.” “Yours or theirs?” Juimei asked, his lips twitching. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a fast moving situation—who knows what tomorrow may bring? Now, about those cracked cisterns at the barracks....” Half an hour later, just when Wepizi was growing a little concerned at the length of time Neime and the others were spending with Laovei, they all turned up. Neime looked calm, the other two a little uncertain, but perhaps less so than before. He rose and closed the door, then turned. “How is she?” he asked Neime. “Asleep. They’re giving her drugs for the pain and they make her drowsy.” “I wish they hadn’t had to take her foot,” Iome said, wringing her hands. “I don’t know how she’ll manage back—” As she clearly remembered she was supposed to keep that secret, Jozin scowled. “I’ll take care of her,” he said stoutly. “Like the others.” Juimei, having stood to greet them, cleared his throat politely. “Uh, Wepizi? Please make the introductions.” “Oh, my apologies, your highness. Allow me to introduce Jozin and Iome. They’re friends of Laovei. Jozin, Iome, this is Prince Juimei of the line of Godiw—he’s this region’s governor.” “Prince? What does that mean?” Iome asked curiously. Jozin wasn’t giving his reaction away just yet. “Ah, it simply means my father is the king,” Juimei said with a reassuring smile. “If you were his daughter, then you’d be a princess.” “A king—that’s important, isn’t it?” “Yes, my dear, it is. My father with his councillors govern the whole of Andon, and try to protect it from the warlords and those who would attack our country. My father’s grandfather helped drive the warlords from this land.” She still seemed confused. Jozin looked distracted, and Wepizi realised he was staring at Juimei’s cane.

“Why do you talk funny?” Jozin suddenly blurted out. “It sounds like you’re eating while you speak, and Nuveize says that’s rude.” Juimei stiffened, his hand clenching over the top of his cane. Beside him, Neime’s expression went blank. Then the prince smiled, though rather tightly. “My apologies—I can’t actually help it. Would you...uh...care to sit?” Iome hesitated as the prince and Neime cleared a place for them. “Sir, could we...?” “Yes, my dear?” Juimei said, clearly trying to sound friendly. “Where’s Timinke buried? Could we see?” An excellent way to get these two away from the prince before they offended him again. “Yes, of course,” Wepizi said. “His highness is going to have you to stay in his own home, so why don’t I take you to the gravesite, then I can bring you up to his residence. With his highness’s permission, of course.” There was a distinct flash of relief in Juimei’s eyes as he answered. “Of course. Good idea. Go along, we’ll meet you up there.” “Neime?” Iome asked shyly. “Will you come too?” He didn’t smile as he replied, “I’ll be at the residence later—I want to speak to his highness first.” She seemed a little perplexed at her new friend’s cool manner, but Wepizi took her hand. “Neime’s had a long day and a long night before it, my dear. Come along. Jozin?” Grateful to get them away from the prince, he lost no time in taking them out of the shop and out into the square. As they walked across the square, Iome looked around curiously. “Never been in a town before, my dear?” “No, sir. Not this big.” He wanted to know exactly where she had been but was anxious not to reawaken Jozin’s suspicions. The lad slouched along beside them, seeming rather lost in his own thoughts. Iome clung to Wepizi’s arm—he wondered how old she was. Physically, she could have been anything from fifteen to twenty-five, but her child-like innocence and insecurity suggested more fifteen than the other. That could be equally the result of long isolation as much as youth. The two were a paradox. “Why does he talk funny?” Wepizi stopped. Jozin looked at him with something surprisingly close to embarrassment. “Because he was injured some years ago, falling from a doig. He can’t help the way he speaks, or walks. I’m sure Nuveize wouldn’t have considered he was being rude,” he said, giving Jozin a look which he hoped conveyed the message that someone else had been—very rude indeed.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Joz,” Iome said, wagging her finger at him. “You hurt his feelings.” “So what?” Jozin muttered, a long dull lock of his red hair falling forward over his face as he stared at his feet. “He’s just a normal like the rest of you.” “Even normals have feelings,” Wepizi said mildly. “His highness is very sensitive about the way he speaks because he’s been mocked over it, and someone he loved very much turned him away because of his injury. Perhaps it might have been kinder not to have mentioned it.” Jozin still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Iome did though. “But that person didn’t love him back? If she could do that, she must have been mean.” He didn’t think it was worth correcting her assumption. “Well, I think so, certainly, to judge a person for something they have no control over. You know what that’s like, don’t you, Iome? Jozin, did the people in your tribe hate you, because of your Blessing?” Jozin jerked up, then scowled. “They were stupid—I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, or do anything! And I didn’t, hardly, but they were all scared of me, and then my father said we had to try to keep it secret. But it didn’t work,” he added angrily. “They still hated me.” “Me too,” Iome whispered, putting her hand on Jozin’s arm, though for her own comfort or his, it wasn’t clear. “I was just playing. I never hurt anyone.” “I’m sure you didn’t, either of you,” Wepizi said as kindly as he could. “People...are frightened by what they don’t understand. And they react unkindly sometimes.” He urged them to keep walking, and they fell into step with him. “You’re not scared,” Iome said. “You act like you know all about us.” “Well, I do, in a way. I have a friend who had the Blessing of fire, though only a minor Blessing.” “Like Kilinze...oh, I wasn’t supposed to say!” Iome covered her mouth just as a child would, caught in a mistake. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said soothingly, wondering who Kilinze was, and how old he was. “Anyway, Romi’s told me a lot about the Blessed—the Gifted as they called them in Darshian— and I know the problems you have.” “Who’s Romi? And what’s Darshian?” Benevolent god, the child knew almost nothing of the world. “Another country, south across the ocean. Vast and empty, like this one, only not so cold. Romi’s a soldier like me. His lover was raised by two minor gifted, and is close friends with the truly Gifted. One of them is Blessed with fire too. He has two friends with your power, Jozin—they take him flying, he said.” “A normal?” The boy blinked in shock. “They take a normal with them? He’s a friend?”

“Yes, indeed. A very close one. He’s even helped one of his friends—who has the power of mindspeaking as Nuveize does—to have two children with her lover. Maybe one day you might meet him—he’s talking about coming to visit me here.” Jozin seemed dumbstruck by the idea that a normal could be a friend of the Blessed—and more than that, be a friend back. “You’re lying. Making it up.” Wepizi shrugged. “Ask Nuveize to read my mind. I can’t lie to you, Jozin—not while she can see everything.” The boy scowled again and set off in long, angry strides down the main street towards what was left of the city wall and gates, past the new barracks, and then out into the field that had become a graveyard. Wepizi didn’t push—he had nothing to hide, was speaking the barest truth, and wanted Jozin to think, not react. He understood why the children were so defensive, and, if he was right in his guesses, why they were so sheltered and inexperienced too. But they had to join the real world at some point, and the real world included people like Karik and Romi as much as the warlords. Their path took them past the worst of the ruination of the town, and out into open farmland and clearings. Ahead of them lay the camp, the tents rising squat and reliably in clumps, people sitting outside them, eating, talking, resting. But their business was not with the living, so they turned away from the river, towards what had once been a place for holding excess stock from the market, now a sea of turned soil and mounds. Rough wooden fences that once kept animals penned, now marked the boundary of the town’s newest and most unwelcome amenity. It had wanted an infirmary, but had got a graveyard instead. The irony was bitter indeed. They weren’t the only visitors. Here and there, people knelt or stood beside the piles of earth marking the resting place of a loved one, weeping, holding each other, some murmuring prayers for the dead. Wepizi felt his own heart swelling with sympathetic sorrow and grief—so much misery, so much pain people would have to learn to swallow, just as he did. He found it hard, even after all this time, to remain calm when surrounded by so many who felt as he had, still did. “Wepizi? Where’s he buried?” He collected himself, cleared his throat, made himself smile a little at the girl. “Let’s speak to Tinwis Kiein—he has the records.” The elderly holy man, dressed not in the traditional green and black of the mourning attendant, but in his more simple white, now rather dirty robes—all that he had left after his shrine was half-crushed—prayed before one of the graves, unmarked like all the others, since there had not been time to make decent grave stones. Wepizi waited until the man finished the familiar prayers for the dead, joining in with the last, piously murmured “we beseech thee, oh Benevolent father”, and bowing his head to show his respect to this soul, one of so many. Then the tinwis turned, his lined face calm but very weary—he’d had a long day, and been up all night. Wepizi didn’t know where his stamina came from.

“How may I serve, tezrei?” “Tinwis, these are friends of the boy, Timinke, and wish to pay respects. Do you have the list of the graves?” “Of course.” He drew a small sheaf of papers from his sleeve, and scanned down the list. “Yes—over there. Come with me. I’m trying to visit all the graves today, but I fear I may not achieve it. I know Sephiz will pardon my human weakness, but still, it’s a shame.” “We’re all grateful for what you’ve been able to do, Tinwis,” Wepizi said quietly, guiding Iome with a hand on her shoulder to follow the holy man’s footsteps. Jozin kept to himself, but he was obviously affected by the emotions of this place, the mourners and the sad ranks of fresh graves. It would take a heart of stone to remain indifferent to the quiet pain visible all around them. As they passed through the narrow lanes between the rows, Wepizi saw a small family, weeping as they clung to each other. As they drew closer, the father suddenly broke down, collapsing to his knees. Wepizi recognised them now—it had been the man’s elderly mother who’d been killed. She’d been at home, tending the house while the rest of them had attended the prize-giving—oh, how long ago that seemed. He excused himself and went to speak to them. The woman and the girl stared at him with weary, miserable eyes, perhaps wondering from where he’d sprung. “My friends, please accept my sorrow at your loss. May Sephiz keep her spirit safe.” The man looked up, then burst into tears again. It was unnerving to see such raw uncontrolled grief, and his wife and daughter helpless to comfort him. Wepizi knelt, heedless of the knees of his best-uniform. “Sir—Frisenze,” he corrected, recalling the man’s name. “You should take your family back to shelter, calm yourself, perhaps have some drizu or tea. Sitting out here won’t help you.” “I can’t leave,” he whispered. “If I hadn’t left her, she’d not have died. I swore to look after her when Father died, and I abandoned her. She died because I left her.” “No, Fri,” his wife cried, “you couldn’t have stopped it!” “You don’t know! What if I could have got her out? I could have made all the difference.” He buried his face in his hands, heart-rending sobs shaking his body. His daughter clung to him, her face a mask of misery, forced to parent her father while she grieved for her grandmother in her turn. There was nothing Wepizi could do for them, not now. He looked up and found Tinwis Kiein looking at him. “Leave him,” the tinwis said quietly. “I’ll come back and sit with them later. People need to grieve in their own way.” Which was true, but Wepizi still felt a failure walking away from someone in such pain— such pointless grief, for truly, no man, no woman, could have resisted an earthquake that strong.

If the man had been in the house, most likely he and his mother both would have been killed. He put his hand on Frisenze’s shoulder. “The pain will ease, my friend. Don’t punish yourself with choices you couldn’t make. Only Sephiz is all knowing. We’re not.” He had no way of knowing if the man heard, or paid the least attention. With a heavy heart, he climbed to his feet. No point in trying to brush the mud off his knees—mud was everywhere in this place, as if the earth cried too. Jozin and Iome were both solemn-eyed and silent—he wondered what they made of all this, the world of normals, a world they thought they had no part of. “Come,” he said gently. “Let’s find your friend, and you can say your farewells.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 17 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Neime went to the door and closed it again, turning around, an apology already on his lips. “Jui, I’m—” Juimei held up his hand to forestall him. “Don’t. He’s but a child, and thoughtless. Not your fault. I should be over this, don’t you think?” “He’s not that much of a child, and it was still cruel. I don’t think he meant it—they’re not really used to people, any of them.” “Yes, I noticed. Don’t work yourself up. I do have a funny voice, there’s nothing I can do about it.” But it still hurt. He was just getting used to being seen as a proper governor, being listened to for what he had to say, not how he was saying it, and this boy had come along and spoken the truth for what it was—Juimei sounded like someone speaking with their mouth full, ludicrous to any normal person. He made himself pretend he didn’t mind, because Neime was upset on his behalf and Sephiz knew the lad had more than enough on his mind. “Wepizi said we don’t know where their friends are—did you get any more information?” Neime shook his head. “No, they talked through their friend. Wepizi explained about that?” Juimei nodded—it was rather unsettling to know that this unknown woman even now could hear his words and thoughts, but then he had nothing to hide. All his weaknesses were there for the world to see. “They’re still determined to take her away, even though she’s in no state to even get out of bed, and Iome seems to realise they have no way of caring for her. It’s Jozin—he’s so stubborn.” “He’s a child trying to act the big man, so we have to reassure him and calm him down. I’ve put Wepizi on the job. He seems to have the knack with young people—I surely don’t.” “You do! You were wonderful with me when I first came into your service.” “Perhaps. I’m not the man I was then, though it’s kind of you to say it.” Sephiz’s beard, he was tired, and feeling every inch the cripple he so obviously still seemed to everyone. “The infirmary? You owe me a report.” “Now?” “Yes, now,” he said somewhat testily. “Just because you’ve been holding that girl’s hand for days, doesn’t get you out of your proper job.” Neime straightened up. “My proper job is to attend you, your highness. I’ll admit to neglecting you, and I hope not to do that again. But I haven’t neglected the task you gave me.”

“I didn’t say you had—oh, let’s not quarrel, lad. I’m sorry—the boy unsettled me. Just give me the brief details, then we can rest.” He hauled back his temper, because Neime didn’t deserve even a grain of it, but for the first time in days, he felt a headache coming on, his neck tightening into iron bands. Ridiculous to manage the fate of three thousand people without a twinge, yet one thoughtless child made a foolish remark, and his body decided to be a traitor. He made notes on Neime’s suggestions, and they gave some thought to the now pressing need to get the less seriously ill people out of the crowded infirmary to reduce the risk of disease. They decided to transfer those who could be moved to the mayor’s residence, and those people already in the residence, would have to be billeted out. The mayor’s housekeeper was summoned, and the arrangements discussed—she said they would be put into place by the following morning. And with that done, they could take themselves home with a clear conscience. As the housekeeper left, Neime gave him a long, assessing look, then without a word, slipped out of the shop. Juimei sighed in exasperation, but was too tired to argue with the boy. He wondered how Wepizi was getting on—he was so glad to have him to help with these children. So glad to have him at all, really. He was just the kind of person Juimei wanted beside him in a crisis. Someone he would want as a friend, though he probably had ruined the prospect of that forever with his thoughtlessness. Tomorrow, he had to get out and see what progress was being made. At least most people would be too absorbed in getting their homes rebuilt and putting their lives back together, to stand and snigger at him. No, that would come later. Maybe he should be giving a thought to leaving this post. The value of a respected leader was not in question—but whether he was what these people deserved, was. Neime was back in five minutes. “Your carriage awaits, your highness.” “What?” Neime grinned. “Well, a cart actually. I thought you might like a lift.” “I don’t—” “Jui, don’t be an arse.” Juimei leaned back, blinking at the uncharacteristic vulgarity, but then he chuckled. “That bad, is it?” “You look exhausted. I feel the same. Come on, swallow your pride.” He could either throw a tantrum, or he could let his page’s thoughtfulness make his life a little easier. He took the path of least resistance. The soldiers driving the cart saluted smartly, and helped him into the cart with immense dignity, so he could hardly complain on that score. And by Sephiz, he was glad not to have to walk half a mile right now. Yet people just as tired as he was, probably just as sore, some just as disabled, still worked as they passed, piling wreckage out in

the street, or into carts. Sifting through broken possessions, extracting precious belongings that would help them remake their homes. A child, clutching a dusty wooden doll to her chest, stared up at him as they drove slowly along past her ruined home, past the ruined homes of her friends and neighbours, her big eyes full of sadness and confusion at what had befallen her and her kin. It made him suddenly ashamed that he’d been thinking of abandoning them, abandoning children like her. This disaster would not be behind them in months—it would take years. Families had lost not just homes, but loved ones, livelihoods. Just because he had the luxury of scurrying back to the palace and holing up in self-pitying misery, didn’t mean these people could escape. He told the driver to stop for a moment, and asked Neime to lift the child up to the cart, so she could stand on the running board. Her parents, hastily bowing and wiping their brows with grimy hands, seemed rather puzzled by what he was doing. They didn’t protest though. He twisted around to the girl. “Hello, my dear. They found your doll?” She nodded. “‘s Wizip.” “Wizip? That’s a funny name. Where did you come up with that?” “‘s sound he makes. ‘Wizip, wizip’.” She demonstrated, making the doll dance a little as she made the sound. “‘s mine.” She held it out for him to examine, which he did, noting someone had gone to a lot of trouble to carve a realistic face and colour it. Made with love as well as care. “Yes, he is. Have you got somewhere proper to sleep, my dear? What’s your name?” She clutched her toy to her chest again. “Lasila, sir. Yes, we’re in a big tent cos the house is all broken. I was scared because everything shaked,” she added solemnly. “Yes, I was scared too. It was pretty frightening, that’s for sure. Lasila, my name is Jui, and I’ll make sure your house gets fixed. You just have to be a brave girl and hold on until we do that. Was anyone hurt in your family?” She shook her head. “My friend’s father got hurted. Broke his arm, snap.” “Oh, that must have hurt,” he said, wincing in sympathy. “Well, we have to make sure no one else gets hurt, so you be careful while you’re clearing up.” He looked up and beckoned to her mother to come over, which she did, bowing politely. “Do you have everything you need? Have you got a place to sleep all together?” “Yes, your highness. Up at the camp. We’ll be heading that way soon—we just had to try and get some of the clothes, and Lasila’s toys.” She rubbed her forehead again distractedly. “There’s just so much to do, and I don’t know how we’ll ever fix it.” “Jui said he’d fix it,” Lasila assured her. Her mother gave her a look of surprise at the familiar address. Juimei smiled to reassure her that no offence was taken.

“I certainly will. I’m just going back to my residence, madam, and then I’ll send this back for you, take you all back to the camp. You need to rest, eat your supper. It’s much harder when you’re tired.” “That it be,” she said. “Lasila, come down now, let his highness get on.” “What’s your name, madam?” “Peiminze, your highness. That’s my husband, Jemai,” she said, pointing. “My son’s around somewhere,” she added, looking around as if she expected him to appear out of the ground. “Well, Peiminze, I want you to let me know—let me or Neime here know personally—if there’s anything you or your friends need. I’ll be at my residence, or back in the square. Tell them all they can come speak to me directly at any point—they don’t need to go through an elder or an officer. I want to know if there’s anything we can do. Is there anything now?” “No, your highness, except maybe if you could help us find a dry place to store the things we get out of the houses. It’s getting pretty crowded up at the camp.” He turned to the solder in the backboard. “Thoughts on that, soldier?” “I can ask if we have space in any of the barracks stores still standing, your highness. We’re short of canvas, though we’ve got people making oilcloth.” “Then tell your jiren to make it a priority—no point people endangering themselves retrieving belongings if they’ll be ruined by the rain, or broken, or injure someone by being in the way. Tell him that’s my direct order.” “Yes, your highness,” he said with a polite bow of his head. “When you get back to the camp, ask Peiminze to advise you—you can do that, can’t you?” “Yes, your highness,” she said, giving him a weary smile. “Anything to help.” “Good lass. Now I’ll let you get back to your work. Lasila, you be careful now.” “Yes, sir. Say ‘bye, Wizip.” The doll was made to wave, and Juimei bowed solemnly, then her mother lifted her down and the cart moved off. “Bad with children, eh?” Neime muttered quietly from behind him. “Shhh. Infants are easy, that’s why I can handle you.” “If you say so, your highness.”

~~~~~~~~ His two young companions were completely silent as they walked back through the town, now darkening in the dusk, and quiet, with most of the residents back in their shelters, and only a few soldiers with lanterns beginning their patrols. They saluted, offering assistance as Wepizi

passed, but apart from borrowing a lantern, he told them to be about their business. Jozin and Iome ignored each interaction, lost in their thoughts and their sorrow. They had been fairly calm until the tinwis took them to the anonymous pile of dirt that marked their friend’s grave, but as the holy man explained what honours had been paid, and how he believed Timinke hadn’t suffered, Iome began to gulp, tears trickling silently down her face. She’d buried her face in Jozin’s chest, and they had both cried, more wrenchingly because it was so silent. No hysteria, just pain, grief and loss, and a strange amount of acceptance of the fact of the boy’s death that the man, Frisenze, for all his advantage of age, had not been able to manage. Wepizi felt this was far from the first time these two had experienced bereavement and it made him more determined to get to the bottom of their situation. They were so young, and for all their great powers, still in need of love and care. But there was a good deal of trust that would have to be built before he would be allowed to help them get it. Now, their tears expended, they had no energy left for words. Wepizi respected their need for silence and privacy, just guiding them gently with a hand or a word as they walked along the shadowy streets. No sign of the prince or Neime in the square—they must have gone on ahead, as expected. He hoped Juimei wouldn’t hold a grudge over Jozin’s tactlessness—a week ago, he’d have been sure he would. Now—he didn’t know. Perhaps patience was a skill Juimei had relearned. The residence seemed less busy, as if more people had moved out. The butler, Gimoz greeted him with the same perfect graciousness as the night before, the rotund, cheerful man a refreshingly ordinary and soothing sight after such a depressing day. “Welcome, tezrei,” he said, beaming at him as if Wepizi was a long-lost brother, “and these are our two new guests, yes? Welcome, welcome, do make yourselves at home. His highness said to send you right along, sir, and we’ll have supper brought to you soon. I hope that’s all right with you.” “Of course. Jozin, Iome—this is Gimoz, and he runs his highness’s home for him.” The two nodded, but clearly didn’t really know what to make of him. “Ah—my uniform?” “All being taken care of, sir, and we’re getting a selection of clean clothes for your young friends. His highness said if there was anything any of you needed, to just ask. Is there something we can help you with? Miss? Sir?” Iome hid behind Jozin, who shook his head. Wepizi answered for them. “Supper and the clothes will be fine—perhaps a wash too?” “All in hand. Step along to his highness’s room, he’s waiting for you.” He led the two young people along the elegant corridor. Iome’s eyes widened with curiosity, and even Jozin stopped scowling, staring up at the high painted ceilings, the polished tile and wood floors—immaculate even with all the pressure on the staff—and the pretty carved woodwork along the windows and doors. There were people around—servants, some of the

sprightlier temporary guests—and each time someone came close, both Jozin and Iome retreated, hiding behind him slightly. They hadn’t been like that with the holy man, but Tinwis Kiein wasn’t anyone’s idea of a threatening figure. Or perhaps it was because they’d been in the open, and could make a run for it—ah, that was probably it. As an elderly, obviously frail man passed them, helped along by a young woman, Wepizi turned to his companions, waited for them to be alone once more, then said, “You’re completely safe, both of you. You can walk out the door anytime you want. Please—relax. No one means you any harm.” Jozin straightened up, and tilted his chin defiantly. “I’m not scared of you.” “Good. Come along,” he said as if there was nothing untoward about the lad’s demeanour. He had to give him credit for courage, if nothing else. He found both prince and page freshly washed and groomed, and clearly awaiting their arrival. As Wepizi closed the door behind them, Juimei struggled to his feet. “Welcome to my home, my friends. I believe our supper will be here soon. Please, come and sit. Neime, chairs?” In the bustle to organise things, any little awkwardness that might have lingered from Jozin’s behaviour earlier was masked, and the prince exuded, if not exactly bonhomie, certainly more polite graciousness than Wepizi might have expected, considering. The little table could be extended, and though it was snug, soon they were all seated around it, Jozin and Iome sitting stiffly and looking ill at ease. Juimei pretended not to notice and asked Wepizi a couple of meaningless questions about food supplies, while Neime got up to tell the waiting servants outside that their meal could be served. Simple, tasty fare once again, though not stew, of which he’d had more than enough. Wepizi noted approvingly that someone had thought to remember the hungrier appetites of the newcomers. There was far more food than he thought the prince would normally order. He expected Jozin and Iome to fall on the food as they had earlier—but they didn’t. “Is it not to your taste?” Juimei asked politely, watching Iome pick at the cold roasted vegetables drizzled with herbed oil, and the flavoursome cheese, a speciality of the region. “Perhaps something plainer, like soup?” “No, sir,” she said quietly. “I....” She heaved a sigh. “I miss Timinke. Now there’s just the seven of us, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.” “Iome, shut up,” Jozin muttered, but without much passion. She turned to him, a rare flash of anger in her dark eyes, spots of colour high in her thin cheeks. “No, you shut up. Stop telling me what to do. If you’d made Timinke stay put, he’d still be alive!”

He stared at her, looking betrayed and hurt. “I tried, but he never listened to me. It’s not my fault!” He clenched his jaw. “I tried to stop him, but he had to go see the doigs because Laovei wanted to. I tried, I really tried.” He hung his head, hair falling forward and covering his face. Wepizi suspected tears were being covered too. “Jozin?” Neime offered Wepizi a clean handkerchief, which he handed to the lad as he put his hand on his shoulder. “No one thinks it’s your fault. It was an accident. Lots of people died that day.” But Jozin buried his face in his hands and shook his head, protesting behind his muffling fingers that he tried, he’d tried so hard, but Timinke just wouldn’t listen to him. In the end, there was nothing for it but for Wepizi to wrap his arms around him and try to soothe him. The others watched, Iome clearly distressed, the prince and Neime hiding their emotions behind solemn dignity. Juimei took Iome’s hand and held it—she didn’t protest the gesture. The storm of emotions didn’t last all that long, and Wepizi wasn’t surprised when Jozin struggled out of his embrace. He half expected to be snapped at, but the boy only angrily wiped his face with the handkerchief, then handed it back with a muttered “Sorry”. “No, keep it—I’m sure there are spare ones.” Jozin just nodded, wiping a stray droplet from his cheek, his eyes still downcast. “You remember that man in the graveyard?” Jozin sniffed. “The one whose mother died?” he asked, his voice clogged from crying. “Yes. He’s blaming himself, saying if only, if only. Really, he had done nothing he didn’t do all the time, leaving his mother in charge of the house—and who could have known that on that day, this would have such a terrible consequence? Timinke and Laovei probably went off on excursions all the time, didn’t they?” “Laovei wanted to see the baby doigs,” Iome whispered. “She loves baby animals.” “Ah, that explains—” Wepizi stopped—no point in talking about the accident and upsetting everyone. “But I’m sure they’d done that before with no harm coming to them, so why would anyone have known something like this would happen? Jozin, you can’t protect people all the time, no matter how hard you try.” The boy stared at him with grief-stricken eyes. “But Gemeli died, and now Timinke. I could have saved them both, but I wasn’t there, and they both died.” He wondered who Gemeli was, but it wasn’t the time to push. “Sometimes people die even if you are, son. My wife died in my arms. I couldn’t save her, and you wouldn’t have been able to save him. It all happened so fast—no one had time to react.” He laid his hand on Jozin’s shoulder. “He didn’t suffer. He was with a friend, and he was doing something nice for her. There are worse ways to die, though it’s a hard thing to have to accept.” The boy scrubbed at his face again, and sniffled, trying so hard to calm down, be brave. “When...when did your wife die?”

Out of habit, he covered the instant pang with a smile. “Four and a half years ago. But it still hurts, as your grief will hurt. All you can do is pray for their spirits and remember them with love. To do anything else dishonours them.” Jozin nodded, still not looking at him. Wepizi thought it best to leave him be for a little while, but kept his hand on his shoulder as a comfort. Iome was in better shape, though pale and red-eyed, but she hadn’t let go of Juimei’s hand even for a moment. There was an uncomfortable silence, embarrassment as much as anything, but then the prince broke it. “Neime, let’s have some tea, shall we?” he said. “I think it might be better than drizu with this, and nice to have both.” Neime eagerly took up the offered distraction, getting to his feet. “Of course. Iome, would you like some soup instead?” “No...this is good. I’ll eat it soon.” Neime nodded, and slipped out of the room. Juimei began to eat one-handed, as if his appetite was all that mattered, but the glances he gave the two youngsters, made it clear he was simply giving them time to calm down. Wepizi followed his example, and picked at the excellent food. “Huoinevol cheese tastes better when it’s local,” he said, trying to pick a neutral topic of conversation. “Yes, indeed,” Juimei replied, sounding as if cheese was of passionate interest to him. “They export it to Visiqe, but people there don’t know what they’re missing. The salt fish from Tsikiugui I always thought was one of the more sensible trade goods—doesn’t matter where you eat that.” “Salt fish?” Iome asked shyly. “What’s that?” “Well, it’s fish that you cut in half so it’s flat, and then you cover it with salt for about a week. You wash it off, dry it, and then the fish will keep for a good time. The fishmongers in Tsikiugui make a very tasty version.” “Because we get the best fish in those waters,” Wepizi said. “Everyone knows that.” “Are you from Tsikiugui?” she asked. “Not originally, but I lived there for a long time. You’re from around here?” She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to tell you.” “Then don’t, if it upsets you,” Wepizi said quickly, fearing to set Jozin off again. “Try the cheese, see if it agrees with you. Do you know it takes nearly a year to make a cheese of this type? I was talking to the dairy owner about it just the other day.” Wittering on about nonsense helped her relax. It took only a little coaxing to persuade her, and not long after, Jozin, wiping his nose again, began to eat as well. Neime returned with the pot of tea, took his place without a word, and behaved as if there was nothing at all unusual. By the

time Wepizi had finished his own food, and had poured himself a second cup of tea, colour had returned to the cheeks of both their guests, and though both were subdued, tears no longer threatened. He and Juimei kept up a light, meaningless conversation about this and that, Neime joining in and keeping things at a calm, unthreatening level. Iome ate with better appetite, commenting shyly about the taste of the meal, which clearly included things she had never tried before, and responding willingly to Neime’s gentle conversation. Jozin slowly grew less tense, no longer holding himself as if he expected a blow, and he stopped scowling and sending suspicious looks at people every time someone asked Iome a question. He even went so far as to answer a couple of innocuous ones himself. Wonders would never cease. Finally they had eaten and drunk their fill, and Neime cleared the trays and removed them for the house servant to collect. “Now, we’ve arranged for you to sleep in here,” the prince said. “Wepizi, do you mind a bedroll? Neime can share with me, Jozin and Iome can have his bed, if you don’t mind. If you do, we’ll find somewhere for you.” “A bedroll is what I’m used to. Jozin? Do you want to sleep in here?” “On a bed?” Iome asked, eyes lighting up. “A real bed?” “Certainly,” Juimei said, smiling a little. “I only ask the army to sleep on the floor, not pretty young ladies like yourself.” She blushed a little at his words, then Neime led her over to his bed, and invited her to sit. “Joz, you have to try this, it’s wonderful!” she cried, falling back on it and hugging it. “So soft!” “Stop messing around, Iome,” he muttered. “It’s fine,” he added ungraciously. “Good,” Juimei said. “Neime can show you where you can wash, and my people have found you a set of clothes each. Wepizi, you can wash here, or with them, whichever suits you.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry if I sound...curt. I’m just tired.” He smiled self-deprecatingly at Jozin. “And my voice becomes much more peculiar when I’m tired, as you’ve probably noticed.” Wepizi glanced at Jozin, staring at the floor, his cheeks looking rather pink. “Um...sorry about what I said.” Juimei arched an eyebrow, and Neime, standing at a cupboard and fetching something, went still. Wepizi waited, and finally Jozin looked at the prince. “About your voice. Shouldn’t have been mean. You can’t help it.” “No, I can’t.” Juimei walked over, limping heavily, which Wepizi had come to realise was also a sign of extreme fatigue. “But I very much appreciate your apology. No one’s ever bothered to do that before. No one’s really ever cared if they offended me over it.” Jozin’s eyes widened. “Lots of people say stuff?” “Yes, they do. Not all of it because they don’t understand. But you didn’t realise.” “I just didn’t...how did it happen?”

Juimei limped over to one of the chairs, and waved Jozin to sit down himself. He leaned forward, his hands on his cane. “I used to play a game called doig-ito—do you know it?” Jozin shook his head. “Well, it’s very popular back where I come from, up in the mountains, in Visiqe. I was the captain of the Royal team—his majesty’s team. That’s my father, you see. So it was a great honour, and I always wanted us to win for that reason. I suppose I was rather vain about it,” he added, smiling again. Jozin smiled uncertainly back. “Anyway, there was a match which got a bit rough—both teams really shoving and pushing at each other. I don’t remember it because of what happened, but I’m told I was knocked off my mount by accident, and one of the doigs took fright and kicked me, here and here.” He indicated the places on his skull. Jozin winced, and Iome, off to the side, made a small noise of distress. “When I woke up, I couldn’t move all my left side, or speak hardly a whisper. Thanks to Neime and a lot of patient care, I’ve got a lot better, but I’ll always speak oddly, limp somewhat. But before the accident, I was as fit and strong as you.” “Why was your lover mean to you?” Iome asked. Wepizi winced, mentally berating himself for the gaffe—he hadn’t thought the girl would mention it, and indeed, he hadn’t really thought that far when he made his explanation to them earlier. But Juimei showed no sign of annoyance at his privacy being breached, though his mouth tightened as if in pain. “Well, for different reasons. Mainly because he wanted a partner who was as handsome and capable as he was, and he thought I would embarrass him. Then he met someone else he liked better.” “And a damn good thing too,” Neime muttered. Juimei glanced up, not entirely pleased with the interruption. “Think about it, Juimei. What if you had bonded to that bastard? What would your life have been like?” “Neime, that’s enough,” he said in a mild tone, though the flash in his eyes meant business. Neime gave him a defiant look, but said no more. “He sounds awful,” Iome said. “Just because you got hurt, doesn’t mean he should leave you. That’s not what friends do. If Joz got hurt, I’d never leave him, like we’re not going to leave Laovei. We all help each other when one of us gets sick or injured.” “A proper thing that is, too,” Wepizi said, trying to draw attention away from the prince who was now looking rather uncomfortable. “So, does that answer your question, Jozin?” He nodded. “I guess. I’m sorry you were hurt.” “Thank you, son. I appreciate that too,” Juimei said, smiling warmly, though it had to have cost him. He got slowly to his feet. “Now, Neime, why don’t you take Jozin and Iome to get cleaned up, and then we can all get the rest we need. Wepizi can keep me company for a bit.”

“Yes, Juimei,” Neime said meekly. Wepizi got the sense that master and page were not entirely pleased with each other right now, but in Juimei’s place, he’d not be too happy with Neime either. Once they were alone, Wepizi cleared the table and chairs away, and spotted the comfortable-looking bedroll in the corner. At least he’d have a real pillow, and he’d slept in far worse places than on a clean floor in a warm room. “If you want a bed, I’ll arrange one,” the prince said, walking over to one of the small armchairs, and levering himself down carefully. “No, this is perfectly fine. Are you in pain?” “My leg hurts. Often does when I’m tired. And I have a demon of a headache. Neime usually massages my neck but....” “I could do something about that, if you like.” Juimei looked up in surprise. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that for me. I’ll be fine. I just need to...try not to get so worked up about things I can’t fix.” The wistful note plucked at Wepizi’s heart, and he felt the need to ease his companion’s sadness, even just a little. “I’ve rubbed more than a neck or two in my time.” The prince shrugged. “If you feel you want to, I’ve not the energy to argue. But change out of your clothes—you must want to relax. Use the robe again.” Wepizi was delighted to do so, and wash his face and hands with the water in the ewer on the side table. He needed more than that, but he was clean enough for now—and at least he wouldn’t have to climb back into his damn best-uniform on the morrow. Juimei looked at nothing, staring at his hands, resting on the cane, clearly absorbed in his thoughts—or the pain in his head, more likely. As soon as he put his hands on Juimei’s neck, he realised the man had to be in a lot more pain than Wepizi had realised by his demeanour—his neck was as tight as cordwood. But Karik and the medics on the Darshianese expedition had taught him a thing or two about therapeutic massage, so he set about his task with care, wanting to ease a little of the suffering surrounded him, using Juimei as a surrogate for those people he had not been able to help and comfort today, like poor Frisenze. Juimei dropped his head and sighed as Wepizi carefully used his thumbs to dig into the impossibly tight tendons and muscles at his neck. “By Sephiz, that’s good. Sorry to impose.” “Not at all. As Iome said, we should all help each other, don’t you think?” The prince said nothing for a few moments, and Wepizi feared he’d caused offence. But then Juimei unclenched his hands, and relaxed. “Please excuse Neime’s brashness. He took my former lover’s defection nearly as hard as I did, only for different reasons.”

“He didn’t think he was good enough for you?” “That obvious, is it? Ah, yes...oh, that’s good...you have the hands of a god, Wepizi.” “Prijian or Darshianese?” “Ah...Prijian...the Darshianese ones don’t have hands.” Wepizi chuckled at the remark. “Or anything. I believe, anyway. No, Neime disapproved of him even before. Ironic, that he was proved so right in his judgement, and it took the accident to make me realise. I don’t suppose you ever had a lover break your heart like that.” “No, I’ve been lucky. I had a few romances, summer things, where I fancied myself falling in love. But once I met Lema, I knew...and then there was no one else for either of us. Until she died, and broke my heart forever.” Juimei didn’t respond. Wepizi kept up the massage as carefully as ever, but inside couldn’t help be a little hurt that his own troubles—what had the man called them, his ‘domestic misfortunes’?—had caused so little reaction. But he had misjudged the prince, for he straightened a little, then spoke. “I’ve learned more about your wife today than I have in the last month. I’m ashamed I’ve given you so much cause to distrust me. No wonder you can reach these children in their sorrow, when I can’t.” “I wouldn’t say that. I think opening yourself to Jozin like that took a considerable amount of bravery. I was moved very much, and, I think, so was he.” Juimei waved his hand dismissively. “I should get over it, don’t you think? I lost a faithless, ambitious man whose only interest in me was to advance himself at court. When I looked like I would cease to have any role to play there, he scampered off, found himself a courtier’s sister and married her with indecent haste. Neime knew he was worthless. I have only myself to blame for not listening to his advice.” From this position, Wepizi couldn’t see Juimei’s face, but his tone was bitter enough to imagine his feelings. “You think he never loved you?” “Perhaps he fancied himself in love at some point. I thought I loved him. But if even a child at such a distance can see that it wasn’t real, then I was a fool to have deluded myself so. Nothing like losing a kind and loving spouse. All that really suffered was my pride.” Wepizi worked on Juimei’s shoulders, and tried to impart comfort as well as relief through his fingertips. “If that was all it was,” he said gently, “then it wouldn’t hurt so much after all this time. You mind the mockery of the children because it reminds you of what he did, and if it was a minor slight, then you wouldn’t be in such pain from stress now. Your lover did you harm, and that was wrong. He abandoned you, and that’s very hard to forgive, for even if he didn’t love you, he could have offered you friendship.” The prince gave out a short, harsh laugh. “Friendship? He had no use for me as a friend. He wanted to be the king’s bond-son, if he could not be his son-in-law. Now he’s got himself a place on the council and leads the pack there. He spends all his time denigrating me and my work in

this region, so my brother’s wife tells me. To think I used to imagine I would teach him how to play ice-ito, and dream of all the fun we’d have together. Neime’s right—if I’d bonded to him, I’d be even more miserable and pathetic than I am now. So it was a lucky escape, don’t you think?” “Yes. But a painful one, nonetheless. You offered your pain to Jozin tonight, to ease his, to help explain his. I was proud to witness such generosity, your highness.” “Don’t exaggerate,” the prince muttered. “I’m not.” Juimei only grunted, which Wepizi took as a sign that he should shut up and continue the massage. Juimei seemed to benefit—at least, his neck felt less rigid. “How’s the headache?” “Improving, thank you. Neime has magical hands, but you’re not too shabby. I’ll keep you as my second string.” Wepizi essayed an ironic bow behind the prince. “Deeply honoured, your highness.” “Hmpf.” He reached behind his head and touched Wepizi’s hand. “Thank you, enough.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m fine. Just sit, rest.” Wepizi did so, sitting on the other little armchair. The prince stretched his leg, but from his expression, he was in far less pain than before the massage. “No point in going to bed until they return, but if you want to read or....” Juimei cast his gaze around the room. “Not sure what else I can offer you.” He flushed suddenly, as if aware that his words might have another meaning. “Uh, I mean...I’m usually only in here to change or to sleep.” “I’m too tired to do much of anything, really.” Wepizi began to absentmindedly play with his moustache, which was now in a pitiful state, and wondered if his shaving kit had been retrieved along with his uniform. But then he recalled his moustache aroused unpleasant memories for the prince, so made himself stop. Juimei looked at him oddly. “Sorry, I fiddle with it out of habit.” “What? Oh—I wasn’t...please, play with your pet, if you need to. It’s probably lonely.” Wepizi chuckled. “No...I was thinking, you probably still haven’t really forgiven me for my nasty remark, and I wondered how I could ever rehabilitate myself in your eyes.” Wepizi started—it really had slipped his mind. “Truly, it’s forgiven, and you’ve more than made up for your former offences even with what you’ve done tonight. If Sephiz allows a sinner to repent, then who am I to deny it?” “But then I’m the worst kind of sinner, because I deny Sephiz’s authority, Wepizi. There’s no hope for me.”

Wepizi shook his head, and gave the prince a wry smile. “There’s hope for everyone. You’ll have to try a lot harder to convince me you’re irredeemable—not,” he added hastily, “that I’m daring you to.” The prince’s lips quirked in an almost smile. “My life’s ambitions, fortunately, don’t run that way.” “How do they run, if it’s not an impertinent question?” “It is, but I’ll allow it. They’re nothing much. I want to see Neime settled safely. I want this town to rise again, of course.” “Nothing for yourself,? What do you want for you?” The prince gave him a hard look, and Wepizi thought he had gone too far. “Why should you care?” “Why should I not?” Juimei seemed rather taken aback. “Do you care about the personal ambitions of all the governors you’ve worked under?” “Not especially, but then I don’t usually sit in their bedrooms wearing their clothes either. But if it offends you....” “It doesn’t, I just...want so many things. Impossible things. Things that don’t matter at all compared to what’s going on out there.” Wepizi’s steady gaze seemed to frustrate him. “I want to be able to talk...without people having to find excuses for me. I want to be able to ride, ride fast and hard, and not need help. I want...I want to be able to dance, Wepizi. I used to be such a good dancer.... Like I said, stupid, impossible things. Better to concentrate on what I can do. Like help rebuild this mess.” He laughed humourlessly. “I guess what I want most of all is to stop wanting. Being plagued by what I used to be able to do, is worse than not being able to do the things in the first place.” “It’s hard not to want what gave you so much pleasure. It’s why we grieve, because we want that happiness again.” Juimei looked at him almost in despair. “But I can never have them—am I condemned to grieve forever?” “I hope not. I’d hope in time you’ll find things that will give you even more pleasure. I don’t know you well, but it seems to me you’re on your way to that. Just give it time.” “But what about you?” “I beg your pardon?” He must be more tired than he thought he was, for the question made no sense. “You—you grieve also, but you seem to think there’s no answer for you, no end to it. Why do you offer me hope, but deny it to yourself?”

Wepizi made himself smile, but inside, his heart ached like the wound was freshly made. “Ah, see—the answer to my pain, is for my beloved to come back to life. You’ll dance again, your highness, far sooner than I’ll fall in love. There’s no substitute for my wife.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, I uh....” Juimei waved his hand in polite dismissal. “No, I’m the one to apologise. Let’s speak of it no more. But Wepizi—I’m truly sorry for your loss. Profoundly so.” “Thank you. I’m...getting better. I really am.” The prince gave him a sad smile. “As am I, but we’ll always bear the marks.” “Yes, we will. It’s that process we call life that does it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then grimaced at the state of his hand. “I’m filthy.” “Ah, my failure as a host. If you tug on that bellpull, someone will come and they can show you where they’re letting people bathe. If it were just us again, I’d suggest here, but with the others coming back....” “No, I’ll find the washroom. You can manage?” “For the length of a bath? I must really look decrepit.” Wepizi chuckled, then rang the bell. Whether the prince realised it or not, he was getting over his pain, however slowly. But it’ll take more than an earthquake to get over losing you, my love.

~~~~~~~~ Sleep was elusive that night, for many reasons. Neime had dropped off easily, and even though he would have words with his page over his outburst, Juimei couldn’t really hold it against him, since it was made from loyalty and anger at the treatment of a friend. No, resentment over that didn’t keep him awake, nor did the soft sounds of strangers sleeping in Neime’s bed. The young people had disturbed him, that was true, and given his preference, he would not be sharing a room with them. But they were actually little trouble, and once they’d returned from their wash, wearing borrowed clothes (and looking much more civilised, it had to be said), they’d retired without causing any fuss. He’d wondered if they would share a bed or not, but it seemed to be something they were used to—he couldn’t quite work out their relationship, but it didn’t seem sexual, not that it was any of his business. Though they were in fact, not children, they were rather child-like, rather innocent. A mystery, and one he would investigate in the morning if he was allowed. But it wasn’t the Blessed, or the company of strangers making it impossible to find oblivion. It was the memory of warm, strong hands, taking away the pain, bringing...pleasure, ease. The

longing which filled him, utterly shocked him, because he hadn’t had a remotely sexual thought in years, as if that side of him had died along with his fitness. Now, it was as if Wepizi had struck a spark that had set long-dead embers on fire. He didn’t miss Miki—he really wondered now how he could have ever imagined himself in love with him —but by Sephiz, he missed being touched by a man’s hands, a man’s strength. He liked women, and enjoyed their softness, their roundness, their scent, their tone of voice. But what made him hungry was hard muscles, the firm, powerful grip of long, skilled fingers—nothing like Neime’s touch. Neime was still a youth, with the slenderness of youth. Wepizi was a man full-grown, with the experience, the calluses, even the scars of maturity. Juimei almost wanted to cry in frustration that he would never again have those hands on him, any man’s hands on him, except therapeutically. He was sick of being handled as a patient, out of obligation or pity. Wepizi’s massage, so kindly meant, was like a hammer blow, ramming home he was the object of no one’s desire, that he offered nothing that would entice a handsome man like Wepizi to touch him and want to be touched. The kind gesture had only made his body a traitor once again—was there no end to the ways it could remind him of what a useless wreck he was? To be on fire with need, without the slightest ability to quench it, was as cruel as waking from his coma to find himself crippled for life. Neime shifted, muttering. Juimei lay still, afraid to wake his friend and invite questions he didn’t want to answer, and had no answer for. He certainly didn’t want that to happen with Wepizi in the same damn room, even though their ever-patient tezrei slept the sleep of the just and exhausted at the foot of Neime’s bed. He could imagine the man’s reaction if he knew what occupied Juimei’s frayed thoughts now—how...understanding, how...tolerant he would be. And how bloody painful it would be to endure Wepizi’s attempts to explain his idiocy. No, he really, really didn’t want to talk about this in front of Wepizi. Or anyone. He sighed to himself, rubbed eyes that felt full of sand, and tried to get comfortable. His headache was back, but he hadn’t dared mention it to anyone. Right now, even the warmth of Neime’s young healthy body against him was like a brand on his reawakened consciousness. He desperately hoped Neime would never realise that. A cripple with a libido. How utterly disgusting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 18 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “I told you, we’re taking her home today. Stop arguing with me.” “No, I can’t let you do that,” Wepizi said for at least the fifth time that morning. “Jozin, you’ll almost certainly kill Laovei if you move her now. The risk of bleeding, infection, just the stress...why can’t you let her stay where she is until she’s healed? She’s quite safe.” “Because I’m not leaving without her, and we can’t stay here.” At least the boy was now keeping his voice and his temper under control. It had taken some very stern words from Neime, Juimei and Wepizi himself before Jozin agreed to conduct himself in a more agreeable manner, but the boy’s obduracy on this point had not wavered. Wepizi couldn’t physically stop Jozin taking Laovei away, but by Sephiz, he would do all that he had the power to. The problem was, Jozin refused to stay in Dizeindo. Wepizi couldn’t really blame him for that, but moving Laovei would be nothing short of a death sentence. “Wepizi, I need to get down to the square,” Juimei said, sounding rather sharp. He was in a mood this morning, that was for sure, which hadn’t much helped things with the two Blessed. Wepizi supposed being forced into the company of so many people for so long, put a strain on his limited patience. “Jozin, if you take that girl out of the infirmary before the healer approves it, her death will be on your head. Do you really want that?” “You don’t know—” “I bloody do. I don’t know what your problem is about staying, and right now, there are more pressing things I need to deal with. But your attitude is hurting your friend. She’s safe, she needs help, you don’t have the facilities to care for someone so badly injured. Stop being an arse.” Juimei levered himself up from the table. “Wepizi, I’ll have to leave you to deal with this, though I know you also have more pressing concerns. Jozin, the tezrei isn’t here only to pander to you. Neime, come on.” And then he left. Iome stared after him, obviously confused. “He’s angry.” “He’s...pre-occupied,” Wepizi said, though he wished he could also permit himself to be so sharp. Jozin was being more than annoying. “Can’t you just give it a day? Let yourself see how Laovei is doing?” “I’m needed at home.” “Then go home, and come back. She’s going nowhere, and you saw for yourself how ill she is, how well the healers and medics are caring for her.” “You don’t understand. I have to take her back. We have to be together.” “What does Nuveize say?”

“Same as you, Wepizi, but he won’t listen to me.” He managed to not jump out of his skin. “Sorry to frighten you. It’s my fault, really—I’ve emphasised so often that we have to stay together, that none of us can run off for the sake of the others. He’s learned his lesson too well.” “But if we could somehow help you, perhaps even bring you all here....” “Are you listening to me?” Jozin snapped, and that was Wepizi’s first indication that he’d not been included in the conversation with Nuveize. “Ah...what did you say?” “Never mind. Iome, we’re going now.” She got up, but with clear reluctance. “Joz, I really think—” “No. We’re leaving.” “Wait, my friend.” Wepizi grabbed at Jozin’s sleeve. The lad gave him a cold look for the liberty. “I have an idea. Why don’t I visit your home, and maybe your friends could come to the town, if there aren’t too many of them. If it would reassure you, I’m sure we could find the space.” Jozin snatched his arm out of Wepizi’s hold. “Normals aren’t allowed!” “Jozin! Will you listen to me? You can trust Wepizi.” “We can’t. Yuzin always said—” “Yuzin’s dead.” “Who’s Yuzin?” Wepizi asked, hopelessly confused. “My lover. Jozin, we can’t do this any more—there’s only the seven of us, and Laovei is crippled. Please—will you listen to Wepizi? I’m begging you, my dear. Please...I don’t want to lose any more of you. I’m so tired of grieving.” Jozin’s jaw worked. Iome’s eyes were large and worried in her pale face. Wepizi held his breath, hoping Nuveize’s plea would have some effect. “What if he tells people?” “He won’t. I can make it so he can’t, but he won’t—not without our consent. Ask him.” Jozin glared. “Well?” Wepizi held out his hands in a gesture of submission. “So long as your secret harms no one else, I won’t tell anyone. Neither will Juimei. You can trust him and Neime completely.” “But I don’t see what you can do for us anyway.” “That’s true—I don’t know myself. But if you could leave Laovei to heal, and let me talk to your friends, we could at least see what we can offer you. If Nuveize says you need help, then I believe her. If you’ve managed so long, and need it now, it must be desperate.” “It is.” Wepizi turned to Iome. Jozin seemed shocked at her simple statement. “Joz, we can’t go on. We’re just scratching along. None of us can do what Yuzin could, and we won’t have Timinke or Laovei to help any more. We’ll either have to steal, or we’ll have to ask these people for help. What harm can it do to just talk?”

“You’ve really forgotten how cruel normals can be to us?” “No,” she said quietly, reaching for his hand. “But Wepizi’s not cruel. Not all normals are cruel. I remember ones that weren’t. Please, Joz? I don’t want Laovei to die, and I’m scared of what will happen to us.” Jozin turned anguished, angry eyes on Wepizi. “If you hurt us, I’ll destroy all of you. I can do it, you know I can.” “I believe it,” Wepizi said in all seriousness. “You have no reason to fear me. You have all the power, not me. Iome—if you wanted, you could stay to watch over Laovei.” She started to respond eagerly, but Jozin moved in front of her protectively. “A hostage?” “Oh, by the benevolent god!” Wepizi finally lost his temper. “Iome? What is your Blessing?” “Wind,” she said, almost shyly. “And what would you do if someone tried to hurt you or Laovei? What could you do?” “Um...well, I could probably blow them out of the window.” Wepizi turned to look at Jozin impatiently. “A hostage?” The boy had the grace to look embarrassed. “Look—I want to help, but I’ve got three thousand other people who need my help too. If you’re going to keep turning me down, I’ve got work to do. I can’t stop you removing Laovei, but you’re the only one who wants that. Like his highness said, her death will be on your head. Now, you both should come with me. I’ve got to go into the square, meet my officers, and see to the barracks building. You’re not the only people in need here.” Irritation had more effect than all his patient words, and he was pleased, if rather bemused, to find that Jozin meekly obeyed his words. “Why are you surprised, Wepizi?” Nuveize asked as they walked out of the residence. “Joz is only a boy—he’s had to grow up too fast, but at heart, he’s as tired as the rest of us. Take the burden from his shoulders and of course he’ll let you.” “So long as he doesn’t realise I know that. Will he agree?” “I think so. Iome should stay—Laovei is getting anxious. It will do them both good, and Iome likes people. So does Joz, but he’d never admit it.” No, he probably wouldn’t, Wepizi thought. He could see the lad trying to make up his mind, but Wepizi couldn’t pay as much attention to him as he needed, because he’d told no lie—he really did have many things to deal with, and as soon as he entered the square, his officers and three elders descended on him. He tried to keep Jozin in his sights as he dealt with the problems that had sprung up like fungi overnight, but the two youngsters didn’t seem inclined to wander far, and by the time he was allowed to come up for air, he saw Neime walking his way. He waved him over. “Looking for me?” “No, Iome. Laovei wants her.”

“Then I’m going. Joz, you’re not taking her anywhere,” Iome said sternly. “I’ll never speak to you again if you do.” The pain in Jozin’s eyes showed that was a threat with real force. “Don’t let them hurt her,” he said, though without the anger of before. “I won’t,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “Come on, Neime.” Neime only lifted his eyebrows as he took her arm. He turned to Wepizi. “His highness is back in the shop—he didn’t want to put people to the trouble of moving him around, so for now, that’s headquarters.” “Thank you. Iome, if you need anything, you only have to ask.” She gave him a sweet smile, then Neime led her off over to the infirmary. That left Jozin with him, and Wepizi had no idea what to do with the lad. He couldn’t be allowed to wander loose, but Wepizi had work to do. “Would you come with me?” he asked the lad. “I’ve got to make an inspection, meet Juimei —I’ve not forgotten your problem, but—” Jozin cut off his explanation with a sharp slicing motion of his hand. “I’ll come with you. But I don’t trust you.” “That’s understood.” If Juimei was surprised to see Jozin alone with him, he showed nothing in his expression. He still seemed out of sorts, though the disappearing back of the mayor as Wepizi reached the temporary headquarters might have had something to do with it. “Now you’re here,” the prince said in a business-like manner, “I think we should do an inspection. Any objection?” “None at all. Jozin will come with us.” “Whatever you’ve agreed,” Juimei said dismissively. “Can you arrange doigs, please?” Wepizi turned to his companion. “Jozin, can you ride?” “No.” Not really a surprise, but the prince shook his head in irritation anyway. “Then get a cart,” he snapped. “Anything. I want to do this, this morning.” What on earth had upset him so? He’d been fine the night before. Perhaps he had another headache, or had slept badly, but the ill-temper was unfortunate while Wepizi had yet to persuade Jozin the world of normals wasn’t such a bad place. But he had to work with what he had, so he merely smiled politely, put his head out of the shop door and whistled up one of the soldiers waiting for orders, sending her for the prince’s doig-trap from the residence, and another animal for him. As they waited, Juimei curtly explained the rearrangement of the infirmary residents, which affected Wepizi’s soldiers among others. He agreed the move was necessary, and could report

they should soon have sufficient quantities of oil cloth that would make providing temporary shelter for people and belongings easier. While they spoke about this matter, Jiren Heininke came in to report. More depressing news from the mountains—the mine roads were all blocked, and the two men who had managed to make their way out from the isolated mountain settlement in which many of the miners lived, said there had been a serious collapse and people were trapped underground. Unfortunately, there was little hope of saving their lives. Juimei received the news grimly. “What about the rest of them? Can we get their families out? Supplies in?” “I’ve already got an engineer working on it with the two men from the area, your highness. But it’ll all have to be carried in and over by hand.” Juimei nodded, then turned to Wepizi. “You’re authorised to make whatever arrangements you can that don’t endanger the people here. We can’t save everyone, but we have to do our best.” “Of course. Carry on, jiren, keep me informed.” As his officer left, an ordinary soldier walked in and bowed to them. “Ah—that’s our transport.” Wepizi said. “Your highness?” Jozin followed them outside, face still set in a scowl. He had listened to their discussions in silence, and said nothing now as he squeezed into the passenger seat of the doig-trap. Juimei dismissed the driver, insisting he could manage the reins, and they set off. With the prince clearly not welcoming any assistance or attention, Wepizi turned his thoughts to the resurrection of the shattered town. He’d seen it happen before, but it still astonished him how quickly people could restore some semblance of normality to their lives in such conditions. The market was already back in operation, and though there were fewer stalls and customers, people still carried out the ordinary buying and selling that was the usual business in a market town. Up and down the square, along the streets, in and out between property boundaries—all that really was left of the houses—men and women pulled hand carts, carrying belongings, buckets, tools and the odd piece of timber, heading to one of several sites of construction and repair. As well as the barracks old and new, twenty houses had been deemed to be worth shoring up and making habitable. While the wreckage of ruined homes was tossed into carts for removal, beside them, here and there, others were being restored. Around them, people trying to supply the essentials of life—food, water, and waste removal—hurried about too. There was little time for anyone to sit and mope, though the grim expressions on many faces spoke of weariness, anxiety, and in far too many cases, grief. Jozin watched it all big-eyed. Wepizi wondered if he’d ever seen anything like it before, and what he made of it. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t sharing.

Much of the wreckage would have to be reused, since getting large quantities of timber would be difficult until the bridge was repaired, or the river cleared. Families picked over the sites of their homes as roofs and shattered walls were cleared, trying to extract what they could of their belongings. “I want shelter to be provided for people to store their household goods,” the prince said, pulling the trap to a halt. “That has to be a priority over the mayor’s damn cloth, do you hear?” “Yes, naturally,” Wepizi said. “I take it he’s still complaining?” Juimei let out a short laugh. “Now he’s preparing a bill to send to my father. Good luck to him.” Wepizi had less sympathy with the mayor’s plight than was strictly charitable, and found he had even less interest in whether the man got his money. Unfortunate, when Wepizi would have to work with him once this crisis was over, but it was very hard to like him even in normal circumstances. Juimei was making very little effort to conciliate him, which was understandable, but might cause everyone problems in the long term. They stopped frequently, asking for progress reports. Juimei seemed very interested in the civilians, and wanted to know particularly if any of them needed anything, if he could help, and noting all that was said, as did Wepizi. Talking to the families, he was as pleasant and patient as Wepizi had ever seen him, listening gravely to the children, making sympathetic and knowledgeable comments to their parents, and offering reassurances with real weight behind them. The people who spoke to him approached with frowns and left with at least slight smiles on their weary faces—Juimei had given them hope, something they could hang onto, and it meant a great deal to each of them. It was only when they moved on, and Wepizi himself claimed his attention, that the prince grew cold and irritated once more. But Wepizi couldn’t think what he could have done to have upset his highness. It was baffling. They visited the barracks, saw how even in such a short time, structures were going up. Out past the collapsed wall, progress was slower, but this would be the main location of accommodation once completed, and so it was where the bulk of the manpower and the skills were focussed. Soldiers had died here—but people had died all over the town, so this land could not be preserved as a memorial anymore than the rest of it. All Wepizi and the rest of them could do was make those deaths not have been in vain—to complete the construction, and made even stronger. On that point, the prince had been as determined as Wepizi that standards would be maintained this time. They spent a little time speaking to the chief engineer, but didn’t linger, not wanting to slow the work down, the prince only wanting to assure himself that all arrangements were in hand. “I want to visit the camp,” Juimei announced peremptorily. “Of course,” Wepizi said.

There was no need to give directions. The clump of tents was easily visible from the building site, and it took mere minutes to ride into the temporary settlement. The place was busy, since many of the activities that went on in the town, had to go on here. Smoke drifted across the tents from cooking fires, women and older children hauled water buckets, and carts delivered supplies in a constant stream. The camp population was mainly women and small children, though there was the occasional older man who was too unfit or unskilled to help with the reconstruction, or in charge of the family while his wife worked in the town. There was a small detachment of soldiers here, though most were occupied elsewhere. Their job was to secure supplies of food, keep order, and facilitate communications with the town—everything else, including schooling, medical care and keeping up morale, had to be left to the civilians. As Wepizi and Juimei were spotted, word spread rapidly, and hundreds of people quickly surrounded them, all coming to greet and cheer their governor. The children were excited— perhaps enjoying the break in the routine—but even their parents looked as if this visit was welcome. Juimei looked utterly taken aback by the reception—Jozin clearly would have liked to have escaped all the attention. But then Juimei raised his hand for silence, and somewhat to Wepizi’s surprise, the crowd fell quickly quiet. “Thank you, everyone. I’m just making this a short, informal visit so I can see the conditions here, and hear any concerns. I want you to know we’re working as fast as we can to get you under proper roofs and to rebuild. I’m sorry it’ll take some time to complete the work, but you have my oath on it, as a son of the line of Godiw, that we will rebuild, we will rise up, and Dizeindo will be as good and better than before. I pledge my strength and my energy and, if necessary, my fortune to that task.” A wave of cheers and applause greeted that, and Juimei flushed, smiling, looking almost embarrassed. It would have been charming to see, if Wepizi hadn’t still been smarting from his earlier cold remarks. He had to admit the prince was becoming very good at this leadership business—it was only friendship which seemed to elude him. Juimei waved at one of the soldiers who had come to monitor the crowd, indicating he wanted assistance to dismount. Wepizi didn’t bother offering, knowing he’d be brushed aside. On the ground, an escort of soldiers moved in to protect him, but he told them to stay back. As he did, a young voice cried, “Jui! You came to visit?” Jui? Who dared call him that here? But the answer was quick in showing itself, as a child pushed her way to the front of the crowd, and then ran up to the prince. Wepizi thought she might embrace him, but she only stopped a foot or so short, and then put her hands behind her back politely. “You came to see us?” He actually smiled. “Why, yes, Lasila, I did. Where’s Wizip?”

“Back in the tent, he’s tired.” “Oh, that’s a shame. Is your mother here?” “Yes, your highness. Please excuse her poor manners,” the woman said, also pushing her way to the front. She seemed just another young, ordinary mother, and Wepizi wondered how and when the two of them had come to Juimei’s notice, and why he was so relaxed with them. The prince had bent low to listen to something Lasila said to him. “I don’t understand,” Jozin whispered to Wepizi. “He’s so nice to them, and so nice last night, but this morning he’s been horrible.” “I don’t understand it either, son. Best not to think about it. Are you all right being with us?” “Yes. So long as you’re here, I guess. How many people are here?” “Nearly a thousand, though not all of them are here right now. We’re using nearly every tent we have, except those in the infirmary. Not enough for the soldiers of course.” Jozin nodded. Juimei was still speaking to the little girl, who grinned at something he’d said. Surprising she was charmed by him, when children could be so quick to pick up on oddity or insincerity. But then Juimei could be charming, Wepizi had to give him that. Deceptively so. He had no intention of being deceived again. The prince insisted on making a tour of the entire camp, which took no little time at his slow pace, and the crowd following his every step. Wepizi had things he needed to attend to in the camp and elsewhere, but protocol demanded he accompany the governor. It was a far from unrewarding experience. Juimei wasn’t just there for morale purposes. Every perceived lack in the arrangements, anything that caught his eye or brought to his attention by one of the women— even some of the children—was keenly examined, rapid questions being shot at Wepizi, the soldiers, anyone who had any authority over the camp. Within minutes, Wepizi had had to second one of the grois to act as secretary, writing down all the prince’s suggestions, and keep a note of his requests and questions. And still they moved on, through the rows of tents, nothing escaping his attention—even the latrines were checked. Sanitation was something that the crowd and the prince were all most eager to discuss. That all took two hours—a very long time for the prince to spend in the camp in Wepizi’s estimation. But his highness was still not done. Entering the main circle where lunch rations were cooking over numerous campfires, and children were playing, Juimei stopped. “Someone get me a chair, or a box, or a bale of hay—something,” he said. “I’d like to talk to anyone who wants to talk to me.” Wepizi hadn’t expected this, and neither had Jozin. A makeshift throne was made from a box, and there, the middle of the field, Juimei held court, with the groi and two young soldiers his attendants. Soldiers made sure that the prince wasn’t swamped, but other than that, the only control was that exercised by the families and Juimei himself. It forced Wepizi to reassess the

man yet again, just as he had thought the prince had reverted to type with his cold manners. He watched him talk to children, listen to mothers anxious about food supplies, livelihoods, the cost of rebuilding. No trouble, no matter how small, went unnoted, and no one was sent away without a chance to speak to their governor. It took hours and hours, but though Wepizi knew what a strain it was for the prince to talk for so long and to so many people, Juimei’s courtesy never wavered, his patience never faltered. Even though Wepizi was called away several times, when he returned, he always found the prince hard at work, listening intently to the woes, complaints and suggestions of his newest visitor. Finally, close to noon, Wepizi discreetly sent a message through his soldiers to discourage any more supplicants, and the flow of people seeking the prince’s attention dried up. Only then did the prince stand, clearly exhausted, and ask for his mug of water to be refilled. Sipping the drink, he coughed, then looked at Jozin. “Ah...I didn’t really mean to force you to wait here all this time.” “S’all right,” the lad muttered. He’d sat on the grass near Juimei’s chair most of the time, a silent and largely ignored presence. “There’s so many things they all want.” “They’ve lost so much. And...perhaps listening to them was long overdue, don’t you think, tezrei?” Was he being baited? “I think this region is well governed, your highness,” Wepizi said neutrally. “It was before, it is now.” A spark of pleasure lit the prince’s eyes, but then was extinguished, puzzling Wepizi even more. “Yes, well...anyway, we’re done, and we should get back, eat, and see what’s happened in the town. Perhaps you would like to see your friend again, Jozin?” “She’s asleep.” They looked at him in surprise, and Jozin tapped his head. “Nuveize lets me talk to Iome all the time. I know what’s going on, and I can see Laovei. She’s asleep.” “Ah. How extremely useful,” Juimei said. “Then you should do as you wish. Tezrei, please?” Wepizi went to help him up in the doig-cart, but he suddenly found that his support was unnecessary—Juimei rose unassisted through the air, and was then placed carefully in the driving seat. Apart from the smallest shocked gasp, the prince concealed his surprise until he was set down. Jozin climbed up in a more normal fashion, and stared straight ahead, as if expecting a reprimand. “Thank you,” Juimei said politely. “An...interesting experience.” Jozin’s expression was still rather sullen, but a slight, dry amusement lurked behind it. “You get used to it.” “I’m sure,” Juimei said, still politely. “Tezrei? Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 19 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei drove back from the camp up the main street of the town, but had little inclination to talk to his companions. He felt completely wrung out, and he wondered if the others could sense the despair he felt. How could he do all that was needed? So many hopes rested in him, an inadequate, broken vessel. He’d listened to the simple, heartbreaking pleas, the worries of ordinary people, ordinary families, and he’d tried so hard to sound calm, reassuring, strong and decisive. But inside, he felt such a coward, desperate to run away, close his ears, find someone to take the responsibility off his oh so unworthy shoulders. He couldn’t do what these people wanted, couldn’t make it all bright and shiny and new. Some of them would never go home. Some of them would have to leave, go to Nedriz or even further afield. Some of them would never recover from this. And there was nothing at all he could do to stop that happening. He fought to hide his cowardly feelings, the knowledge he was an utter fraud, and pretended he was merely tired, grumpy because of his nature. At least Wepizi knew he was a bad-tempered sod, and Jozin disliked him anyway. They expected nothing better from him, which, in a way, was a relief. Wepizi summoned a soldier to take care of his doig and the doig-trap, then helped him down from the vehicle—Jozin didn’t offer his rather disconcerting assistance, but that was certainly because of the soldier’s presence. Neime was in the shop cum headquarters. “Why aren’t you in the infirmary?” Juimei asked as he limped in. His page gave him a warm smile. “Had to talk to the mayor—I thought it was more private here. I’ll go back shortly.” “And the girl?” “Which one? Laovei’s asleep, and Iome’s helping in the infirmary. She wanted to,” Neime added hastily, seeing Jozin’s expression. “Sephiz knows we could use her. I’ll keep an eye on her, Juimei.” “Well, see that you do,” Juimei snapped, though it wasn’t Neime he was cross with. His friend straightened at the sharp tone in his voice—Juimei would have to apologise later. “But it’s lunchtime—care to find our food?” “Of course. Jozin—would you like to come with me?” The lad shrugged. “Sure.” He looked at Wepizi as if for reassurance. “Go on,” Wepizi said. “I want to have a quick word with his highness. We’ll eat in here.”

Neime took the boy away, leaving Wepizi alone with Juimei, much to Juimei’s displeasure. He sat down and examined the notes the soldiers had taken while he had been meeting the civilians. “Something on your mind, tezrei?” Juimei asked, not looking up, not really wanting to encourage the man. “Yes. Have I offended you, your highness...Jui? Please—if I’ve done anything, said something, not said...I don’t wish to offend you.” Juimei put on his most bland expression. “If I had something to remark upon, I would do so. Is that your biggest concern?” “No, I just...wondered.” “Do you have a complaint to make? Some lack in hospitality? Perhaps you might feel happier if you set up a separate centre of command.” Wepizi stiffened, his voice, when he spoke, cool and formal. “If that’s your wish, your highness. I’ll see to it after lunch.” “Please do. However, you might care to turn your attention to matters not concerning your personal comfort first. I want these things done today.” He waited until Wepizi had retrieved paper and pencil, then reeled off his orders, allowing the man to ask for clarification where needed but not offering any unless asked. They had just finished when Neime returned with a container of soup, and a cloth sack of bread. Jozin carried bowls, mugs and a jug of water. Wepizi let the two lads arrange the food on the desk, putting his notes in his breast pocket and avoiding Juimei’s eyes, his own not hiding his feelings in the least. Juimei forced himself not to care. He had no appetite, and could not even pretend to have an interest in the food. The others ate heartily enough, though Neime gave him a look or two of concern which he ignored. He, however, was curious about Jozin. The lad had something on his mind, and since he wasn’t sharing, and Wepizi wasn’t asking, Juimei finally decided to try. “Something bothering you, Jozin? You seem distracted.” “Just...thinking.” He looked up at him, then at Wepizi. “You really want to help us? The Blessed?” Not what Juimei had been thinking about at all, and he had to quickly shift his thoughts. “If we can, of course. But that would mean we have to know what’s needed, and who needs it. You’ve already said that’s not possible.” The boy clutched a piece of bread in his fingers, and began shredding it nervously. “I....” “Jozin?” Wepizi asked gently. “We really do want to help.” Jozin swallowed. “I...could.... Maybe you and I could....” “Go to your home?” Wepizi prompted. Jozin nodded. “When?”

“Uh, now?” Wepizi blinked, Neime stared in astonishment, and Juimei sat back, really taken by surprise. “Jozin, Wepizi has things to do....” “Which I can delegate,” Wepizi said quickly, cutting him off. But Juimei, annoyed at Wepizi taking this line without consulting him, persisted. “Then you can delegate this—Jozin, we can send lep Tovoi with you.” “No,” Jozin said, setting his jaw stubbornly. “Him or you. No one else.” “Now, wait a minute—” Juimei started to say, but Wepizi cut him off again. “I understand,” he said. “If you could give me an hour, even half an hour—” “Wait a minute, tezrei. You can’t just leave your post without permission,” Juimei snapped, secretly alarmed at the idea of Wepizi disappearing to Sephiz knew where, possibly never to return. “Jozin, perhaps we should talk about this. Let me have this evening to—” “No, I have to get back—they need me. If you don’t want to do it, then you shouldn’t have said you did.” The boy lowered his head, his ragged red hair hiding his thin face. “Told you,” he muttered, as if he was talking to someone not present. Juimei tried again. “Jozin, I just want time to talk—” “No. Now. Or never.” He turned as if he was about to walk out. Juimei nearly growled in annoyance at this child trying to manipulate all of them in this manner. Wepizi put his hand on Jozin’s shoulder. “Wait, could you...Neime, we’re finished eating. Could you get rid of the plates and things and come back in a few minutes? I need to speak to his highness.” “Wait a minute!” Juimei shouted, now more than irritated, but his page was already on his feet, collecting their dishes, mugs, the container and jug. “Come on, Jozin. Give them time to think.” “Neime!” But he was ignored. His page and Jozin scurried out of the shop like their backsides were on fire. Wepizi got up and shut the door, while Juimei glared at the intolerable insubordination, not to mention the downright rudeness of his inferiors. “Juimei, I’m sorry, but I have to—” “I don’t care what you have to, Tezrei! I’ve just told you that you may not leave this town without my permission! Which part of that order do you not comprehend?” “I understand it perfectly, your highness,” Wepizi said in a deceptively mild tone. “However, I have standing orders which antedate and override that. Your honoured father, his majesty, has explicitly ordered all soldiers of any rank to engage with the Blessed and attempt to invite them

back into society. We might not get another chance. I have to go because Jozin will change his mind if I don’t. It might already be too late.” “That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re needed here. Will you abandon three thousand people, your post, your governor, to run off on this chase, when you have absolutely no idea if Jozin can be trusted? He could be leading you to your death? We need you, damn it!” There was a decidedly immovable quality to the man’s stance that truly annoyed Juimei, and his tone was just as implacably unreasonable. “No officer is indispensable, your highness. Lep Tovoi will be acting Tezrei should anything happen to me, or in my absence which will not be a long one in any event. Things are well in hand, and my officers can put our plans in motion as easily as I. You don’t need me either. You’re managing perfectly well.” “I forbid it. I absolutely forbid it. If you go with that boy, I’ll have you arrested and charged with treason and gross dereliction. You’ll be in prison for the rest of your life, I swear that on my mother’s life.” Wepizi drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height. “As you wish, your highness,” he said coldly. “I have a higher duty, and am prepared to throw myself on your father’s mercy. If that fails, then I’ll still take comfort in knowing I acted according to my orders as I understood them.” He bowed deeply. “I will, of course, cooperate with any action you see fit to take against me on my return. Now, please excuse me.” And then the bloody man turned, opened the door and walked out. “Damn you!” Juimei shouted at the retreating back of his most disloyal subordinate. “Damn you to the pits of all hells, Wepizi!”

~~~~~~~~ Wepizi closed his eyes as he heard the angry shout of his governor, his boss—someone he had almost started to consider a friend, more fool him. Juimei had disappointed him—more than disappointed him. But now it was done, and he had his duty to perform. Whether he would have a position to return to, he didn’t know, but for now, he would do what he knew had to be done. “Wepizi, I don’t want you to lose your job.” He jumped a little. “You know, I really would appreciate a little warning, Nuveize.” “I’m sorry—you get used to it. I don’t want you to get into trouble.” “I won’t. And if I do, too bad. Did you talk Jozin into this?” “No. He stopped listening to me hours ago. He’s listened to you though. He listened to your angry prince. That had more effect than anything I could have said.” “Ah. Do you know what’s upset Juimei?” “Yes.”

He waited, but there was no further information. “And?” “Wepizi, one thing people with my Blessing very quickly learn is that if people can’t trust you to keep their secrets, they’ll never trust you at all. If I tell you what’s in Juimei’s mind, then you’ll never believe I wouldn’t do the same thing to you.” “Ah, yes. My apologies for asking.” But that didn’t stop him burning with curiosity, as well as anger. “Would you mind telling Jozin I need him?” “He’s here. They’re hiding.” Wepizi turned, and indeed, Jozin was lurking in front of a house just a little way down from the shop. Neime was with him. He walked over to them. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Is he very angry?” Neime asked, anxious-eyed, twisting his hands. “I thought if I let you two talk...but then I heard him shouting. Wepizi...what’s wrong with him? He was fine yesterday, but he’s been like a demon today.” “I honestly have no idea, son, but I think it’s all centred on me, so you have a good chance of making peace with him. Jozin, I just need to speak to my officers, and then we can go.” “Maybe we shouldn’t,” the boy said, tugging on a lock of hair in what seemed to be a habitual gesture of unease. “I don’t want to cause trouble.” “You won’t.” Wepizi made himself smile with far more confidence than he felt, and sent a silent plea to Nuveize not to reveal his secret. “His highness is not the final authority in this land, and I act on the orders of the king and council. Besides—Nuveize’s already expecting us. How long will it take to get there?” Jozin suddenly looked shifty. “Not long,” he said, glancing at Neime. “Ah—back before nightfall?” “Maybe.” Wepizi sighed in exasperation—he was already on edge from the confrontation, so unexpected, with Juimei, and if he really was going to desert his post, he at least wanted to know for how long. “I need to know when I’m coming back.” “I’ll bring you back when you want to come back.” “Fine. Give me one hour, meet me here. Neime...maybe you better go back to his highness.” “Yes. I’ll try and calm him down.” For Neime’s sake, he hoped he succeeded. For his own...ah, well. It was sad to have his initial assessment proved correct, when he’d so desperately wanted it to be wrong, but there was nothing for it. “One hour,” he repeated, then strode quickly down the street to the barracks, where Tovoi was directing the resurrection of the sleeping quarters.

His officer wasn’t happy with his plans, and when Wepizi had to decline to explain his reasons, he could tell that Tovoi had very similar thoughts to the prince. “And if you don’t return, sir?” “Then you are tezrei. Normally, I wouldn’t consider doing anything of the kind, lep. This is an extraordinary situation.” “I hope so, sir,” Tovoi said, politely holding almost all the scepticism out of his voice. “Will you need supplies?” “No...wait. Something sweet—fruit, perhaps,” he mused, thinking of what he could bring to four hungry Blessed that would show his good intentions. Tovoi was completely confused now. “Sir?” Wepizi realised he was only making things worse for the man. “Never mind, I’ll get it at the market. Carry on, Tovoi. If things go well, I’ll be back before night fall. If not...you have your orders.” “Yes, sir. Good luck, and Sephiz prosper you.” Wepizi thanked him and accepted the salute, hoping he wasn’t as crazy as his subordinate clearly thought he was. Then he returned to the square, heading towards the surprisingly busy market. The fruit and vegetable seller was doing decent business with householders fortunate enough to still have their homes, and so the luxury of cooking their own food. After the earthquake, his stock had been commandeered like the other stall holders’, but he must have found farmers with more to sell, for though his display was sadly diminished, he had several baskets of early fruit and more of vegetables and tubers proudly set out on his boards. He bowed as Wepizi approached. “Tezrei, may I help you?” “Yes, if you would be so kind—I need some fruit. Sweet, the kind of thing to appeal to children.” He rubbed his chin. “Hmmm, it’s the wrong time of year for that—but....” He raised a finger, a thought clearly striking him. “I’ve got some late-gathered umis nuts, just came in yesterday. Children love those.” “Yes, perfect.” The delicious nuts would be perfect as gift offerings to hungry youngsters. He had no idea of the ages of the other Blessed, but he would assume young, and hope that older ones would appreciate his gift. He had to put it on tick, since his coin purse was at the residence, but the grocer was happy to give him credit. Wepizi picked up the heavy sack, tucked it under his arm, and though he was twenty minutes short of the hour, he went looking for Jozin. As he thought he might be, the lad was still hanging around the square—well, where would he go, when he knew hardly anyone and trusted none? He brightened a little as he saw Wepizi. “Ready?” Wepizi asked. “Have you told Iome?”

He nodded. “She’s pleased,” he said somewhat sourly. “She thinks this is a good idea. But she didn’t see Juimei before.” Wepizi laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about the prince, Jozin. He won’t harm you or Iome. He’s got a nasty tongue, but he doesn’t actually bite.” “I don’t understand...it scares me. How can we trust him?” Which was why Wepizi was so angry Juimei couldn’t have kept his damn temper under control at least around Jozin and Iome. But he smiled and downplayed the significance of the prince’s tantrum. “He’s got his troubles, son, but I have no doubt if he gives you his word, he’ll keep it. In truth, all the advantage is yours in this situation, so you should relax.” That made Jozin look rather thoughtful, but Wepizi didn’t want to let him obsess over it. “Come on, the daylight’s wasting. How do we do this?” “Let’s get away from the square.” They slipped down beside one of the half demolished houses and down towards the town wall. Once out of sight, Jozin waved his hand somewhat negligently, and then they rose into the air. Wepizi clutched the sack of umis nuts to his chest, and tried not to look as terrified as he felt. “Hold on—I’m going to go fast, so we aren’t seen,” Jozin said as they drew level with the roofs. Suddenly, Wepizi’s stomach lurched as they shot hundreds of feet into the air in just moments. He was too shocked to even gasp as the ground receded and they rose even above the birds, seeming to be as high as the very mountains. But then the acceleration halted, and they hung motionless above the ruined town. Dizeindo looked no bigger than the span of his two hands from this height, while all of Huoinevol region, the mighty river, stretched out in both directions, verdant and apparently whole—until he looked down upon the shattered buildings, saw the cracks in roads and roofs and the ragged camp full of homeless citizens. In a way, it was good people couldn’t see it the way he was now, because they might despair even more that it could ever be put right. He finally remembered to look at Jozin, and found the boy watching him closely. “I’m lost for words,” Wepizi said. “It’s beyond amazing.” Jozin smiled, and Wepizi realised there had been a little showing off in that incredible display. “You’re the first normal to see Andon this way in a hundred years,” he said. “Are you all right?” “Now I’ve got my breath. I...will never forget this.” That made Jozin’s smile slip. “You will if Nuveize makes you. Come on.” They moved off, but without the sickening speed, and without rising any higher. Here and there they flew over farms, and one of the nearby settlements, saw carts on the road heading towards the town, but no one noticed them. If anyone thought to look straight up, they might

wonder what strange birds were above them, but most people never lifted their eyes that far, as Wepizi well knew. Jozin and his kind could have been flying over their heads for years and never been seen at all, and even if they had been, people would think they were imagining things. “Do you often fly in the daytime?” “Hmmm, yes. But not near the town. Not unless we have to.” They approached the Tuqul range, and Wepizi couldn’t help thinking how jealous Karik would be to know that he had such an unimpeded close view of the Tuquls, and of Mount Karvelino further away, steam rising from its crater. This wasn’t one of the tallest ranges in Andon, but there was permanent snow on the highest peaks and the volcano, and in the deep shadowed clefts, thick ice would form every night on the pools and small lakes. They were very high now, and the air was very much colder, bone-chilling in fact. Wishing he was wearing heavier clothes, Wepizi tucked his hands under his armpits to warm them. It was harder to breathe, and he hoped Jozin realised not everyone was used to this kind of thing. “You live up here?” he asked, wondering how a group of people could remain concealed in these mountains travelled by hunters and herders and miners looking for new shafts to sink. “Not exactly.” “But—” “Be quiet, Wepizi.” In his element, Jozin was a different person completely—assured, almost arrogant in his power. And if Wepizi annoyed him, all the boy had to do was drop him. From this height, he’d be nothing but a smear on the ground when they found him. So he shut up, and wondered what Jozin was up to. They had been following the main road from the mountains, and now the cracks and warping of the ground caused by the quake were obvious. The fault line lay across the road, near to where it rose into the mountains, a huge gash in the earth, the land on the southern side perceptibly lower than on the other side of it—no wheeled vehicle would be crossing it anytime soon. A barn lay half-collapsed close by the road, though the farm house, a little further on, seemed solid enough. Then he looked beyond that, up through the pass, and now saw houses and signs of human habitation set into the hills. “This is the mining settlement?” Wepizi said, surprised. Surely the Blessed didn’t live here. “Yes.” They came to a halt, high above the main pass, totally blocked by enormous rocks and a massive landslide of mud and dirt. It would take months, years for the miners to clear this, and there really wasn’t another route down from the mountains on which heavy goods could be moved. It would mean the ore from the mountain simply could not be taken out in bulk, rendering the operations pointless.

But Jozin had other ideas. Suddenly, gigantic boulders of granite and basalt, weighing thirty tons or more, groaned and shifted, grinding with a deafening sound as they moved. “Are you doing that?” Wepizi asked his companion in astonishment. “Of course. The weight makes no difference to me,” Jozin said, as if it was elementary. To him it probably was—to Wepizi, it was more than he could easily take in. All he could do was watch, his mouth hanging open in amazement, as huge rocks rose into the air with no more sense of effort than of wind-blown leaves, making the mass of soil and earth shiver and judder, filling the space they left behind. The boulders were tossed almost casually far to the left and right of the road, and then the road itself...it was like a hand passing through sand, clearing a path. People had begun to notice something very strange was going on, and even so high, their shouts of surprise and terror drifted up to Wepizi and Jozin as they stared in amazement at the earth coming to life again. None of them thought to look above their heads to the real source of the miracle. From up here, it looked like a child’s sandpit—below, it must have as been as frightening as another earthquake, which was what people probably thought it was. But it wasn’t, it was Jozin, directing, shifting, his face tight in concentration, as thousands of tons of rocks and dirt were pushed aside with no more difficulty than a handful of grain. It took mere minutes to clear what had been an impossible, impenetrable mass. What had been impassable, was a clear path once more. But Jozin wasn’t finished. Like a malevolent cloud, thousands of tons of rubble rose in the air and floated down the mountainside, like some bizarre aerial landslide. Frightening though the sight was, and though it made people scream and run for cover, the rubble had a benign purpose, as Jozin poured it into the gigantic gash in the earth left by the earthquake, jammed it down and compacting it so that the road was now open, usable and safe. It would have taken three hundred men more than a year to do what had taken fewer than ten minutes, and even then, it wouldn’t have been as perfectly done. Unable to believe this had happened so quickly, so easily, Wepizi stared like a simpleton at the repaired road, at the restoration of this lifeline for the settlement, then looked at the young man who had wrought the miracle. He started to try and express his feelings, but Jozin put his finger to his lips. “Not done yet. Wait.” Puzzled, Wepizi had no choice but to obey. Again Jozin concentrated, but nothing seemed to be happening below at all, other than people still running around below them in obvious bewilderment. Finally, he turned to Wepizi and gave him a slightly shy smile. “I unblocked the tunnels in the mines. I felt the miners still moving around, so they’re alive.”

Wepizi gaped. “You...you just saved twenty men’s lives?” Jozin nodded. “Well done, Jozin. Well done indeed. I’m very proud of you.” The lad hung his head briefly as if in embarrassment, but then he looked up at Wepizi with smiling eyes from under his auburn fringe. “Truly. Thank you. You should go down, let them thank you too.” “No. People get too scared of me. That’s why I had to leave my home, my family. Why we all did.” The smile in his eyes died and Wepizi got a glimpse of the grief that lay underneath all the bravado, the rudeness, the need to be in charge. “Sometimes I really miss my mother,” he whispered. Wepizi was close enough to reach him, so he put his arm out, hooked the boy close and hugged him tight, with no words to express how much he wished the world did not fear children with such powers, that Jozin could have had a normal life, and still be free to be himself. But the world did not accept those who were different, or strange, and when one added that suspicion to the fear such astonishing abilities could cause.... “She would be very proud of you too,” he said quietly. “This was a very good thing you did. A wonderful thing.” “I just heard you talking...and I thought, it would be so simple.” And no doubt part of the reason for his puzzling demand for an instant decision on Wepizi coming with him. “Simple, but still astonishing.” He let the lad go—how easy to forget they were standing in thin air. “If you don’t want to go down, then maybe we should move on.” “Yes.” This time he took Wepizi’s hand, and Wepizi was glad of the connection for all kinds of reasons. They flew across the mountains, even over the highest snow-bound peaks, nearly as high as Mount Karvelino itself. Wepizi wondered if they would leave Huoinevol district altogether. With Jozin’s powers, they could travel hundreds of miles in a single day and still return by sunset. But it turned out they were going nowhere near that far, and to his surprise, it wasn’t even all that well concealed—it was in a high valley, isolated, certainly, but not utterly inaccessible. Jozin seemed to realise what Wepizi was thinking. “If anyone comes near, Nuveize deters them,” he said. “They change their mind about coming closer. People don’t realise there’s much up here anyway.” “And is there?” Wepizi asked. “Not any more,” Jozin said solemnly. “We’re here.” He brought them down on to a small grassed clearing, no bigger than some houses boasted for a garden. As their feet touched solid ground, Wepizi heard Jozin’s name being called excitedly and then three children ran over. Jozin swept them all up, hugged them all tightly, and for a few moments, Wepizi was utterly forgotten. But when Jozin stood up, the children turned and went very still, staring at him with big eyes. They were a girl and two boys, and the oldest of

them could only be twelve or thirteen. All thin like Jozin and Iome and Laovei, all with ragged, overlong hair. Their clothes were clean but worn, well-patched, and looking very much as if they had been handed down from larger children. “Hello,” he said, smiling. “I’m Wepizi.” “Jozin?” the older boy said uncertainly. “It’s all right—he’s a friend,” Jozin said. “What’s that thing?” the girl said, pointing. Wepizi realised she meant his moustache. He smiled and knelt. “Come and see.” She was the oldest, and darker-skinned that the others, indicating northern stock. She approached boldly, then put her hand on his moustache, which he made twitch by moving his lips. She giggled. “It looks like a dowkiqu.” “Well, yes, I suppose it does.” Jozin lifted his head. “Here comes Nuveize.” Wepizi looked up, and saw a woman walking towards them in a slightly hesitant manner. The youngest boy ran over to her and took her hand, and her progress became more confident. Wepizi stood up and dusted himself off as she came closer. “Welcome,” she said, in a low, pleasant voice exactly like her mental intonation. She was a handsome woman in her middle years, going a little gray, somewhat older than himself. “I’m Nuveize. Nice to meet you properly, Wepizi.” He bowed low. “The honour is mine.” He straightened up, but then with shock realised Nuveize was blind—she had the slightly unfocussed look of the truly unsighted. “I didn’t know....” “Of course you didn’t,” she said gently, then held out her hand to him. “Come inside—we have much to discuss.” Jozin put his hands on the other two children and led the way. Whatever Wepizi had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Their home was a large natural cave, or at least had started that way, for some of it was clearly hewn by human hands. It all looked weathered and settled as if it was very old, and there were inner doors which he suspected led to even more caverns. The one in which he entered bore the signs of long habitation, for surely it would have taken many years to have added all the refinements, the comforts, the touches like the hangings and decorations on the very walls themselves. The ornamentation was an odd mixture of styles—he recognised that of some of the northern tribes, but also some from the most southern. Much was completely unknown to him, as if it was unique to this very place, created without outside influence. Everything looked clean, if rather worn, as if it had all been well used and loved in its time. He found it impossible to place an age on any of it—there were no clues. It could have been hundreds of years old, or made in the last five.

Though there were no windows, the air was fresh, so there had to be some kind of ventilation, though of what kind, he could only guess. The entrance and the cavern were illuminated by balls of fire such as Romi could produce at will—but no candles or lamps that he could see. The only natural light came through the entrance, and must mean the place was rather depressing if this was the only indoor space they had. Nuveize broke into his thoughts. “Actually, this is just one of a dozen caves, Wepizi. But now there are just the eight...seven of us...we just live in here.” “Please, sit.” It was warm and dry in the high-ceilinged cavern. They must somehow be using the same thermal vents that heated much of Dizeindo—this close to the volcano, he supposed that was reasonable. It was arranged not unlike the army sleeping quarters, with a central stove, an eating area around that, and sleeping pads pushed against the walls. At the far end were workbenches and tools, but since they were presumably independent here, there had to be storerooms and other work areas in the other caves. This was just the living area, he guessed. He was invited to sit. There were no proper chairs, just large pillows, and two large piles of furs onto which the three younger children jumped with a giggle. “I brought some umis nuts,” Wepizi said, hesitating a little, because it might be seen as him criticising their hospitality. But the children immediate ran over to him. “Please? May we?” the young girl said, staring at him eagerly. “Helinoa, remember your manners,” Nuveize said. “Make sure you share.” “I will,” she said, accepting the bag from Wepizi, and pouring a few nuts into her friend’s hands, and then the hands of the other boy, Jozin and finally Nuveize, who seemed to know exactly where Helinoa was, and put her hands out without any sign of hesitation. “How did you...?” Wepizi started to ask, wondering how she could have seen the child’s actions. “I see through other people’s eyes,” Nuveize said. “Takes a bit of getting used to, but it’s better than the alternative. Thank you for the food, it’s much appreciated.” The children settled down and cracked the nuts on the ground. Jozin was using his power to break his open—handy, that. “It’s nothing much. Would you like to introduce me?” “I’m Kilinze,” the youngest boy said, from his seat on the floor near Nuveize’s feet. “Yes, and he has no manners at all,” Nuveize said, shaking her head. “That’s Helinoa, and this young fellow is Giwade. Say hello to Wepizi, Giw.” “Hello,” he said in barely above a whisper. Wepizi reassessed his age—possibly no more than eleven. Helinoa seemed about the same or a little older—Kilinze had to be only seven or eight, though he was a lot more confident than his older friend. “Hello, Giwade, Helinoa, Kilinze. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Are you a normal?” Helinoa asked, before popping a white piece of umis flesh into her mouth, and grinning at the taste. “Good,” she said, her mouth still full. “We don’t like normals,” Kilinze said in a perfectly ordinary tone of voice, picking out the contents of a shattered nut with agile fingers as he spoke. “Because they want to hurt us.” “Not all normals do,” Wepizi said, turning to Nuveize. “Maybe you should explain your situation, and then we can see what can be done.” “Jozin, please, make some tea while we talk—it’s only serka tea,” she said as Jozin rose to obey her. “We have to use what we can get.” “I understand. Actually—no, I don’t,” he corrected, smiling apologetically. “Perhaps you better just tell me everything.” With the youngsters happily eating their treats, Nuveize began her tale. It had started many generations ago during the occupation by the eastern warlords, she said. “The Blessed built refuges like this all over Andon, and made it their business to rescue any more of their kind who were born. Even after the warlords left, we kept taking the children because normals couldn’t cope with our powers.” Wepizi frowned. “I don’t understand—how can children be disappearing all over Andon, and not a word of it ever got reported? A single child dies or goes missing—the whole settlement knows.” “When the parents want the child gone, it’s easy,” she said, smiling thinly. Behind her, Jozin’s face was unreadable, but Wepizi could guess some of what he was thinking. “One or two of us, when we detect one of our kind, we observe, and if the child is under threat, we move in. Sometimes the parents just want their child saved, because they know they’ll be persecuted. Other times, they’re frightened. Sometimes, they are already hiding the child’s powers—easy with those of my Blessing, or that of the senses like Giwade—and those, we leave, though we tell them what to do if they need our help. Occasionally, the parents don’t want the child to be taken anyway, but because they want to exploit their talent—that’s very rare though.” “But how...?” “We leave suggestions in their minds—that the disappearance has been investigated, that it’s all explained, and we make them forget about the child’s powers, laying explanations in their minds so no one talks about it. If the parents cooperate, it’s very easy, and people are surprisingly simple to manipulate.” She must have seen his horror. “Please understand—it’s the only way for us to have survived all this time,” she said, sounding rather defensive. “The Darshianese have a different way of dealing with it—but in the south, their Gifted did exactly the same while the Prij were in control. And will again, should their population turn on them. Every minor and major Gifted in that country knows what they have to do, if that happens. And so they do here.” “So if you thought I would use this information for ill—” “I would remove it from your head,” she said calmly. “But you won’t.”

He was flattered by the trust, but the idea of how the Blessed had hidden themselves appalled him as much as the necessity for doing so. “Tell me why you are so few, and why you can no longer support yourselves?” Jozin handed him some tea in a rough earthen mug, and then sat down next to him on the same cushion. “Gemeli died a year ago, but we were doing fine until Yuzin died,” he said, as a flash of pain crossed Nuveize’s face. “None of us can hunt as well as he could, and since Gemeli was the only one who could really fish....” “Yuzin had Jozin’s Blessing, Gemeli had that of the senses,” Nuveize explained. “He loved to fish in the high lakes out on his own, though he sometimes took one of the children with him. If he’d had someone with him that day, maybe he’d be still alive.” “What happened?” Wepizi asked. All the children looked sad now. Gemeli’s death had clearly been a blow. “He drowned—we don’t know how, but we think he slipped and hit his head. He was very old, though, so he might have just fainted, or got dizzy. We found his body floating in the water.” “I found him,” Jozin said quietly. Wepizi put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And...Yuzin?” Nuveize’s lips tightened. “Yuzin had a heart attack last autumn. I think...he overworked himself, trying to make up for Gemeli’s death. I don’t know, but now we’re all that’s left.” Her voice, laden with pain, conveyed the sorrow of her lover’s death that her spare words did not. Wepizi knew well what she would be feeling. “So...you still survive by hunting? Your talent makes killing prey easy, I suppose,” he said to Jozin. To his surprise, the boy looked horrified, shrugging off his hand. “I don’t kill with my power. None of us do. It’s forbidden.” “I’m sorry, I mean no offence—” Nuveize held her hand up. “We know you don’t, but you must understand—it’s an inviolable rule. We kill nothing, man nor beast, through our powers—ever. Yuzin only used his talent to chase prey, but never to kill. So I was raised, so we are all raised. Without that, then we would never be able to trust any other Blessed, or even hope to enter the world of your kind again.” “You hold to Sephiz’s will then.” “Some of us do,” she said with a thin smile. “But since we abide by that prohibition, and none of us hunt or fish as well as Gemeli or Yuzin, it’s been a lean time. We’ve still managed, more or less. We gather food—fruit, grain and herbs—and we used to sell hides to the settlements, even in Dizeindo—other things too, like gemstones, wooden implements, that kind of thing. I used to do a lot of woodcarving, but I haven’t been able to do that since my eyes failed completely. The children have tried to make up the lack, but it’s all happened too fast, and

they’re so young.... And once I’m gone, Wepizi, no one will be able to protect them here anymore. People will find them, and I’m afraid of what that will mean.” She was their guardian in more ways than one. “You are the only one with your gift?” “Now. There used to be more. Everyone’s gone now. We weren’t a big group to begin with, but there was enough diversity of talent. But we can’t survive another winter. Don’t look at me like that, Jozin. You know we can’t,” she said as Jozin got a balky look on his face. “We could. We could have if Timinke hadn’t....” He glanced at the younger children, and Wepizi realised they didn’t know, or at least, didn’t fully understand. Nuveize shook her head ruefully. “You’re forgetting Laovei too. Jozin, it’s over. If Laovei had suffered that injury here, she’d be dead. We have no one who can look after any of us now, any who fall ill or are hurt. You’re the only one of us who can hunt at all, and if you got sick, or injured, or even died, we’d be trapped here, helpless. We’re too vulnerable now.” “But you said yourself, we could join up with another group, if we can find them.” She tilted her head and looked at him wryly. “And you assume you would be welcome and they would be people you would like. That’s not always the case.” “Just because Yuzin and Gemeli didn’t trust the others....” “Not just them,” she said. Wepizi got the impression this was an old argument, and one that Jozin put up more for form’s sake than anything else. “I can’t stop you if you want to go off, Jozin. But I’d have to look after the young ones, and I can’t do that on my own.” Wepizi interrupted. “Excuse me for asking—but you could, with your abilities, just...take...I mean no offence, but if you’re desperate?” The wry expression on Nuveize’s face became one of resignation. “Lately we’ve had to, though I hate it, and it goes against every principle I and Yuzin and Gemeli have tried to raise them all by. But we can’t keep doing that, and it’s not enough. Now we will just have the six of us able-bodied. With Timinke and Jozin, we were just about holding things together, but now Timinke’s gone, and there’s too small a margin for safety. I don’t want to wait until we are not coping at all. We deluded ourselves we were self-sufficient, and we’re not. Not any more.” “But...you’ve gone to so much trouble to isolate yourselves. Do you expect the normals, as you call us, to simply deliver food to you?” He supposed that might be possible, but he didn’t think Juimei, or any governor, would agree to that easily. “No.” She glanced down at Kilinze and Helinoa, still quietly cracking nuts, listening to their conversation, and since she was hardly looking for her own benefit.... Wepizi understood. “It’s not just about survival, is it? It’s about living.” “Yes. When there were enough of us to be a family, a tribe, then the children were growing up with enough people around them to learn about life and each other. You can’t have a tribe

made up of seven people, and we’re no longer in a state to offer homes to any more of our kind, even if we found them. You have to understand—we’re rare. Jozin here came from two hundred miles away—Iome from even further. You get clusters of the children at different times, different places, and then none are born for a generation or more. No one knows why. All I know is—I want my children to have a chance at a normal life. If we’d had been able to do that, Timinke might still be alive, and Laovei not a cripple. They wanted more than we could offer, they wanted to see something of the world. And look what happened.” She dipped her head, hiding her face behind a fall of greying hair, a mannerism so like Jozin’s, Wepizi felt it had to be one he picked up from her. “Tell me what you want.” She took a deep breath. “Do you think your town could offer us refuge? Or any town? Do you think the world of normals can cope with us now?” “I honestly don’t know, my dear. What alternative do you have?” Her blind eyes swept the room, looking at her charges, perhaps through Wepizi’s own sight. “Nothing honourable. Nothing that wouldn’t cause more problems. We’ve been isolated too long from the others, and...their ways are not ours. Will you help us, Wepizi?” “Will you come to Dizeindo? I can only offer the same shelter that we’re offering everyone else, for now. It’s not a good time to be asking for special favours.” “We don’t want special favours. We just want to live. I want my children to live. It was all Yuzin wanted. In his name, I must do this, because I can’t bear to lose another the way we lost Timinke.” She smiled, but a tear slipped down her face. “He was such a lovely boy. So highspirited, but with the purest heart. He only wanted to cheer Laovei up a little.” “I told him not to,” Jozin said, lifting his head, his expression anguished. Wepizi put his hand on Jozin’s shoulder again to comfort, but the lad had to find his own path through his pain. Losing a friend, losing a brother, was not something anyone got over in a day. “Well, if we’re going to do this, then there are things you’ll need to do.” And Sephiz help them all if the prince took it into his head to make a difficulty over this.

~~~~~~~~ Still shaking with anger and shock over Wepizi’s blatant disobedience, Juimei was in no mood to feign civility. He turned a cold eye on his page as Neime slunk back into the shop. “Why aren’t you doing your job? Oh, that’s right—you don’t answer to me anymore.” At least Neime had the grace to look vaguely ashamed of himself. “Jui, don’t be like that. I just wanted you to talk to Wepizi—”

Juimei slapped the desk in annoyance. “I do not need you to manipulate my interactions with the military, Neime. I know you think I’m an incompetent dodderer, but I am the governor. Not you, not him. Do you have a problem with that fact?” “No.” “Good,” he snapped. “Then get back to the infirmary, and stop buggering about with that child. We have more than a hundred patients who need your help. You’re being idiotically selfindulgent and it has to stop.” No one listened to him anymore. Neime didn’t move. Juimei didn’t have the appetite or the energy to argue with him, and wondered if he should just commandeer a wagon heading northwest and go back to Visiqe. He was about as much use and influence here as a bridle made of snow. He read his notes again, or tried to. All he could see was Wepizi walking out of the door, despite the worst threat in Juimei’s armoury. And now he would have to follow up on that damn threat, or he and this office would be nothing but a laughing stock. Why did Wepizi have to do that? Whatever happened to talking over a decision, having time to think? Was it so wrong for him not to want to lose their most senior military officer on this mad expedition? “Jui?” He didn’t even look up, afraid to betray his anger even more. “Why are you still here, Neime?” “Why are you so angry with Wepizi? He’s only trying to help the Blessed.” Juimei threw his pencil down so hard it actually broke. “By the benevolent god! Are you hard of understanding? Wepizi answers to me. He disobeyed a direct command. We are under emergency rule here. I rule, for what that’s worth. If people are just going to go off and do as they bloody well please, then my authority means absolutely nothing. If people want to argue with me, put a contrary view, then fine. But to simply disobey as you and Wepizi have done, cannot be forgiven. I do not forgive. Either of you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at his page. His friend, certainly. But right now, an insubordinate underling. Neime’s jaw worked. “I see. Then please excuse me, your highness. As you say, I have work to do.” “Yes, you damn well do.” He refused to relent or soften his expression at all. Neime bowed formally, then left. Juimei got up, limped to the door, and slammed it shut with all the force of his frustration. Doubtless Neime thought he was being capricious. Doubtless Wepizi thought him an emotionally stunted, physically crippled idiot. Which he was, but not a capricious one. Neither of them thought he needed to be taken seriously. That was most likely his fault. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to kick something hard. He slammed his arm against the door. This was the line he could not cross.

Even for a man as good and decent and honourable as Wepizi. Some things transcended the personal. He wrenched open the door, stuck his head out of it, and barked at one of the soldiers standing guard, “Get me Lep Tovoi.” Then he turned and went back to his desk. He would do his duty, and then.... And then, when the crisis was over, he would resign. He wasn’t fit in any sense for this job.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 20 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Preparations for departure took the Blessed surprisingly little time. Apart from clothes, a few personal trinkets, a couple of books, Nuveize said they would leave the rest behind, much to Wepizi’s confusion. “We can come back,” she said. “And if we don’t...others of our kind know of this place. None of this belongs to us alone.” The youngsters were eager, though their excitement was rather subdued for children of their age. Jozin seemed worried. “Not sure about this, son?” Wepizi asked, watching him tie some ragged shirts and worn trousers into a bundle. “If Yuzin were alive, we’d not have to do this. He’d disagree about this.” He sat and then looked up at Wepizi with tired, almost desperate eyes. “We’ve spent so long hiding from normals, and now we’re just going to walk in and live with you? You don’t know what it was like in my settlement. It’s worse for people with my talent, or fire like Kilinze. When we’re very young, we have no idea what we’re doing, or how to control it. People get hurt, accidents happen —and people are terrified of us. The people in my tribe even said I should be killed, because I was a curse. What’ll happen if people say that about Helinoa? She’s the same as me.” He could hardly claim these were small matters, and Jozin had had to live with the fear and the ostracism, not him. “I won’t pretend that everyone will accept you, or not be afraid of you. I honestly don’t have any idea how this will go. A lot will depend on how you behave, how much control you have over your temper and your reactions. You’ll need to be patient. And I think you’re wrong about Yuzin. From what Nuveize’s told me, he loved all of you very much. The one thing he wanted above all else was for you to be safe, and happy. Nuveize doesn’t have a better idea. Right now, neither do I.” “But once we do this...we can’t go back.” “No.” Wepizi supposed Nuveize could play with their memories, but it wouldn’t really be the same as not doing it in the first place. And the problem would still be there. “You need to have faith. Sephiz watches over you, don’t forget.” “Your god has nothing to do with us,” Jozin said roughly. “Or he hates us. Not sure which, and I don’t care. If he watched over us, then Timinke would be alive, Laovei would have her foot.” Wepizi was as unlikely to convince Jozin with his arguments as he had the prince, and there was nothing he could say that would not sound crass. “Then, my friend,” he said gently, “if you

won’t believe in Sephiz’s protection, believe in mine. I am tezrei of this region. That counts for a lot. I won’t allow you or the others to be attacked. Not even by the king himself.” “What about his son?” “Ah, well, you leave him to me. Are you ready?” he said, lifting his voice to carry to the others. “Yes,” Nuveize said simply, walking over with Helinoa holding her hand. “Neime says to just bring everyone to the prince’s residence. Are you sure that’s a good idea?” “If he says it is, then it is. Don’t worry about Juimei. So far, the only person I’ve seen him be actively unkind to, is me. You have no need to worry.” She gave him an odd look. “Jozin? You do this. Helinoa, just let him take charge.” It was as simple as that. Great wooden doors sealed up their cavern from the elements, though they weren’t locked, and probably could never be. Then they walked out onto the little patch of grass, took each other’s hands, and rose into the air. The children clung to each other, Jozin holding Nuveize’s left hand, while Wepizi held her right. “I haven’t done this for a while.” “Since Yuzin?” He made sure he kept looking down so she could see, but he didn’t need to watch her face to know how sad she was. “Yes. I don’t have to tell you how empty my life feels without him.” “No. But to have the children with you, must have been a comfort.” “Oh yes. We really thought of them as our own. Jozin cried for a month when Yuzin passed away. It hit him almost as hard as it did me. He wanted so to be like him. He is like him, in many ways. Same brave heart, same recklessness. Same need to love and trust.” “They all seem good children.” “They are. I haven’t really allowed myself to fall apart over Timinke, but if I stop for even a moment to think, it’s too much to bear. All I can tell myself is that at least he didn’t suffer. But I miss him, Wepizi. Him and Yuzin. My family is broken.” “Then let us help you mend it.” She didn’t reply. He didn’t even know if he could help. He didn’t know what awaited him back in Dizeindo. He’d not been party to Neime’s brief conversation with Nuveize, and so didn’t know if he’d said anything about Juimei’s mood. Wepizi felt his own uncharacteristically rash decision had proved justified—but he did wonder if the decision had been entirely his own. Even as the thought entered his head, he glanced guiltily at Nuveize, knowing she must have heard it. “It’s all right, Wepizi. I can’t blame you for being suspicious. I did nothing to you, and would not. I never have, except to protect my family.” “But...this is protection too.”

“For that, I only had to rely on your decency and kindness. That’s not something I can create.” He bowed a little, but then remembered she couldn’t see him. “My apologies. I’m a little...disturbed.” “The prince...is also disturbed. I’m truly sorry about that.” “Oh well. His highness has a job to do, as do I. Now, can you see what Jozin did?” As they flew high over the mining settlement, he explained what had happened, and how Jozin had saved them months and months of extremely hard and dangerous work, not to mention saving all those lives. People still rushed around below them, and carts now headed down the repaired road, some with people riding in them, some obviously carrying goods. It would be a major boost to morale, not to mention to the restoration of normal life in the town. “He will have won many friends today—if he tells them what he did.” “Should he? It’s one thing for you and Juimei to know about us—but will the rest of the population be able to handle it?” “Can you suppress your natures entirely just to live with us, Nuveize? Living half a life seems hardly living at all.” “It’s all I do these days,” she said, sounding rather bleak. He squeezed her hand. “Let’s worry about problems when they arise. I do have one request.” Her blind eyes looked straight at him as she waited. “I...find it inhibiting to know you know everything that passes through my mind. Is there anyway you can stop doing that?” “Not really. If it’s any comfort, most of the time it’s just noise unless I’m specifically listening for someone, or someone is particularly looking for me. Here, so close, there’s not much to interfere with it. But I don’t watch your dreams. I won’t intrude on your privacy, and I never share what I learn this way. You can believe me or not, but it’s the truth.” “I have no reason to disbelieve you. So long as you never give me one, I shall not do so.” “That’s fair. Jozin was right about you. He said you could be trusted.” “He did?” She smiled. “Oh yes. You make an impression, tezrei. I’m surprised you’re not used to that by now.” “I never thought about it. I’m glad he trusts me. I won’t betray that.” “I know.” An excited squeal from Helinoa drew his attention, and he saw they were now close to the town. He wondered how they could all land in the town without attracting attention, but Jozin solved that by bringing them in one at a time, Wepizi first, then the others, all behind one of the surviving houses. The eyes of the three young ones were wide with wonderment as they stared at the buildings. “Never been in a town before?” Wepizi asked, crouching down in front of them.

“Not one like this. It’s all broken up,” Giwade said, sounding a little upset. Giwade had the power of sensing emotions, Nuveize had said. Wepizi wondered if he could feel the anxiety and distress of the people in the town. “Yes, it is now, but we’ll fix it.” Wepizi reached out and took the child’s hand. “Now, how about you come with me and we’ll meet the prince, find you somewhere nice to stay?” Helinoa took Nuveize’s hand, and they made their way down past the house, out onto the street. They were in the square and at the headquarters in a couple of minutes. The soldiers on guard were a little startled by their arrival. “The prince is expecting us,” Wepizi told them. “Yes, sir. Lep Tovoi said he wanted to know when you returned, sir.” “Then go tell him—could you let Neime know as well?” The soldier saluted and sped off to obey. “Come inside, everyone.” The prince was talking to Elder Frankel, but as Wepizi led everyone in, he curtly asked the elder if he would mind postponing the discussion to the morrow. The man agreed, and though he clearly was wild with curiosity about the strangers, he only bowed politely, and left. “Shut the door, Wepizi,” Juimei said, getting slowly to his feet. His movements indicated he was very tired, and in some pain—a long day, and some of it ill temper, Wepizi guessed. “Welcome, everyone. Jozin, care to introduce me to your friends?” “Yes. This is Nuveize.” He led her over. Juimei didn’t show the slightest surprise at her blindness, bowing with courtly formality. “A great honour, my lady. You are welcome to Dizeindo.” “Thank you, your highness. Allow me to introduce Helinoa, Giwade and Kilinze.” “Welcome, all of you. Nuveize, my page has arranged rooms at our residence...er, but he wasn’t aware that....” “I’m blind? I can manage stairs if someone’s with me. Don’t worry, your highness. We’re hardly pampered.” “No. You won’t be here either, at least not for a while. I’m sorry about your young friend. We could only bury him honourably.” Her face tightened in pain. “That’s something at least. I want to speak to the couple who brought him and Laovei in, thank them.” “It’ll be arranged, though I think they’ll be leaving in a day or so. Ah, Neime, thank you for joining us.” The cold way Juimei addressed his friend told Wepizi that, polite welcomes or not, the prince was far from being in a good mood. Neime smiled, but there was a wariness in his eyes as he looked at Juimei—the prince had done a lot of harm to his friendships this day.

“Neime, this is Nuveize, and these young people are Helinoa, Giwade and Kilinze. Forgive me, Nuveize, but I have other things I have to do before I return to the residence. Neime can take you to see Laovei and get you settled. I’ll see you again for supper. I hope that’s all right.” “Of course, your highness. We’re just grateful you’re allowing us to be here.” “As citizens you’re always welcome...however, you might want to exercise discretion until I think more about this situation.” He glanced over at Wepizi before adding, “It’s all moving rather quickly.” “Yes, I know. We’ll be careful. We’ve had a lot of practice.” “Yes. Neime, would you?” The lad stirred himself. “Yes. So, come on, everyone. Let’s go see Laovei and Iome. Wepizi, are you—” The prince cut him off. “I need to have words with Wepizi, Neime. Please be about your business.” Prince and page exchanged cool looks, then Neime put his hands on the two youngest boys’ shoulders. “Come on, they’re waiting.” Wepizi closed the door behind them. “The mine road’s clear and the miners have been freed,” he said conversationally. “Jozin saved many lives today.” “He has my thanks.” Juimei sat down behind the desk—he didn’t invite Wepizi to sit, and Wepizi knew better than to presume. To his surprise, the prince said nothing, and seemed to be waiting, his expression blank, his tight lips the only clue to his emotions. Wepizi simply didn’t know what to say, or why he was being kept here like a naughty child. It was a tense and uncomfortable wait. But not, in the end, a long one. Lep Tovoi came in with two soldiers, and like Wepizi, closed the door. Then locked it—this did not bode well. “Thank you, lep. Please continue,” Juimei said, staring at Wepizi without giving him any clues to what was about to happen. Tovoi cleared his throat. “Lep Wepizi, I have been ordered to place you under arrest on the charge of desertion and gross dereliction. Will you surrender voluntarily?” Wepizi came to attention at once, still shocked even with all the warning Juimei’s threats had given him. “Yes, of course.” Tovoi nodded—he was so obviously unhappy about this, but there was no question of him disobeying a direct order. “What’s to be done with me?” The barracks’ brig was flattened, and the tiny town jail wasn’t intended for long-term residency. “Your highness?” The prince tilted his chin defiantly. “Wepizi, in acknowledgement of your excellent record and long service to his majesty and council, I am prepared to offer you the choice of either leaving the army under an honourable discharge, or facing the charges just described. If you

choose the latter, you will be relieved of your post, and stripped of your rank and privileges until a decision comes from Visiqe as to your final disposition. You will also be kept in custody for that time, at lep Tovoi’s discretion. What do you choose?” “I choose to defend myself, your highness, therefore I can’t accept a discharge.” He stared back at the prince, who didn’t blink. “As you wish. I grant you the chance to change your mind, up until his majesty makes his decision. Lep Tovoi, you’re now acting tezrei. You may make a submission along with the charges and my report. Prisoner Wepizi, you may also do that, and submit what sealed documents you choose, so long as they are handed to me within five days. Is there anything you wish to say, so that I might include that in my own report?” “No, your highness. I did my duty as I believed it to be, and still believe it to be. I regret our interpretations differ on that point.” “Where there is a difference, the vice-regent’s wishes take precedence. The law is very clear, prisoner. Tezrei, please remove him.” “One moment...please. Your highness, what about our new arrivals?” Juimei’s eyes were like frozen stones, and his voice held not a trace of friendliness. “No longer your concern, prisoner. If you wanted to retain influence over such things, then you should have followed the law. Get him out of here.” Wepizi supposed he should be grateful he hadn’t been manacled before he was marched smartly out of the shop and into the square some little distance from it. But as soon as they were safely out of earshot, Tovoi signalled them all to stop, sent the soldiers off a little distance, then turned to him with a frown. “Sir, I’m so sorry about all this. I really had no choice.” “I don’t hold it against you, Tovoi. Or any of you. He’s...doing what he thinks he should do.” “Can’t you just apologise or something? This is ridiculous! You were only gone for a few hours, and if you say the king and council ordered it...maybe it’s him who should be locked up!” “Careful, tezrei—that’s coming close to mutiny if not treason, and we don’t want all the senior officers in disgrace, do we?” “But this is wrong!” Tovoi said, clenching a fist in impotent anger. “And we need you in charge, sir! You’re the one with the experience of handling this kind of thing, not me.” “And I’ll be there to help you until this is sorted out. Either I’ll be vindicated, or I’ll be relieved permanently. But now...do you plan on asking me for my parole?” Tovoi sighed. “Will you give it? There’s no place to lock you up, and by the benevolent god, of all the people I would not want to lock up, it would be you.” “You won’t have to. You have my parole and my promise to cooperate. I’m not afraid of his majesty’s justice.”

“I’ll speak my mind in my submission, sir. You too.” “Oh, I plan to,” Wepizi said dryly. He planned to be very forthright indeed. “But for now, we better adjust to this as best we can. You can’t be tezrei in name only, so take charge, and tell me what you want me to do.” “Make it be this morning, if you can,” Tovoi muttered. “All right—do you think he’d object to you taking charge of the building site in my place?” “Oh probably, but I suggest you wait until he does so before you alter your plans again. After you, sir.” Tovoi didn’t look the least pleased at his promotion. Wepizi couldn’t blame him. No decent officer wanted to rise up the ranks through the downfall of a brother in arms. He was surprised how calm he felt, considering his career and his future most likely lay in ruins. Maybe he should have taken up Juimei’s offer—surprisingly generous since an honourable discharge was a very benign fate for a deserter—but Wepizi hadn’t been a civilian since he was sixteen, and was too old to learn that path now. He still felt he’d done the right thing, though perhaps he’d been a bit precipitate. If the prince had been less forbidding, Wepizi might have apologised and smoothed this over. But his highness was making it an issue of principle, and on such things, Wepizi never backed down. Unfortunately, it seemed, neither did the prince. What a pissing mess, as Romi might say. Lema, I’m almost glad you can’t see me like this. I wish I couldn’t either.

~~~~~~~~ Alone, Juimei worked on his notes and reports and orders, and as he did, familiar, unwelcome pain mounted steadily in his head and his shoulders. He did what he could to ignore it, but as the light failed, and he could no longer hold the pencil because his hands shook, or see the paper because his vision blurred so much, he could go on no further, and finally he laid his head on his folded arms and prayed for something, anything—even death itself—to take away the raw agony. He had no sense of time passing, trapped like a fly in tree gum by the pounding pain in his skull. When someone spoke close by him, he jerked up in shock, nearly screaming at what it cost him. “What?” he slurred. “Your highness?” A soldier? He couldn’t tell—a blur with a lamp, something bright. “Are you unwell? Shall I call a medic?” “No....” He got his feet under him, tried to push up from the desk, then staggered from weakness and dizziness. A moment later, someone’s strong hand was under his arm. “ ‘m all ri’....”

“You’re not,” the voice said, sharp with concern. “Benonti, get a couple of people, will you? And find a cart. Where’s that damn page of his?” Juimei wanted to protest the insult to Neime, but it was all he could do not to throw up. Closing his eyes helped, but he could only hang off the man’s arm like an autumn leaf, not sure if he should cling to the support or fall. “Your highness, you better sit. I’ll get a medic—” He grabbed at what he could reach, which was the soldier’s shirt. “No,” he said with as much force as he could, which wasn’t much. “ ‘m fine. Home.” “Are you sure?” Eyes still closed, he nodded. “Jus’ headache. Home.” The medics were busy, the infirmary was crowded, and the thought of being poked and prodded right now was enough to make him want to vomit. Nearly everything made him want to vomit. “Water,” he whispered. There was some in the shop somewhere, but even for the chance of walking normally again, he couldn’t have got up to find it. The soldier moved away, and a few moments later, a mug was held to his lips. The water was warm, dusty, but a few sips helped wet his mouth at least. He pushed it away after that. “Thanks.” “Your highness, you really don’t look—” Juimei cut him off with an angry slash of his hand, because every sound the man made cut through his skull like a red-hot knife. “Home.” “Yes, your highness. We’re just getting you a cart.” Juimei thought he nodded, but couldn’t be sure. He was so dizzy and sick that his only refuge was to put his head back on his arms and concentrate on not heaving up the contents of his stomach. More indefinite time passed, and Juimei, having found a position which offered him some very slight relief, would have almost been content to sleep there. He just wanted everything and everyone to go away, he wanted this day not to have happened, he wanted...he wanted to go back to before he’d had Wepizi arrested, so he could.... No, that was what he was trying not to want, even if just remembering the feel of those skilled, gentle hands on him, offered him the ghost of comfort now, even through all this agony. He could not want Wepizi to touch him. It was wrong and vile of him. At least he’d ended that possibility for ever, though he hadn’t wanted it to be this way. Someone touched his arm. “Your highness, we can leave now.” He let himself be hauled up, though he stumbled and wove about like a drunk, the powerful grip of two soldiers on either side of him the only thing stopping him from crashing to the ground in utter ignominy. He hoped none of the honest citizens of the town were about to see him being dragged around in this fashion—it was now completely dark, so most would be under shelter. What time was it? He honestly had no idea.

Where was Neime? Where was Wep...? No...he’d sent Wepizi away. That was right— Wepizi broke the law. “Couldn’t stay,” he mumbled. “Your highness?” “Ne’er min’.” They made no attempt to put him in the driving seat, but laid him in the back of the cart like a corpse or a sack of beans. The jolting of the cart, the very noise of the doig hooves, was torture, and he wished desperately he would pass out from the pain. Dimly he could hear the soldiers whispering in agitation, saying they should have found a medic after all, but there was nothing that could be done. He just wanted to lie down in the dark and end this day. The jolting stopped, and there was a rush of excited worried, voices exclaiming, “Your highness!” and accusing the soldiers for not taking him to the infirmary. He was beyond being able to defend them to his people, but he struggled until he was sitting up. “E’ry one. Shu’. Up.” He still had to keep his eyes closed, and swallowed hard against his rising gorge. “Insi’.” More strong hands, half carrying him now, his feet hardly allowed to support him, as he was taken inside the residence. More worried voices—he wished people would be quiet. His head seemed to swell to twice normal size with every sharp sound—and then.... “Jui! Benevolent god, what’s happened?” Neime. “He’p me,” he whispered, and that was the last thing he remembered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 21 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Phew.” Wepizi stood up, cracked his back and wiped his forehead. The weather had turned very warm in the last two days, and though it meant they were unlikely to lose anyone to exposure, manual labour was just that little tougher in the heat and the rising dust. And he’d been struggling with this bloody post and posthole for nearly an hour. The dry-packed earth was singularly unpleasant to work with today. “Maybe we should take a break, sir?” Benonti said, wiping his own face with a grimy handkerchief. Dust got everywhere, and it was very difficult to get clean or stay that way. “Maybe a few minutes. Water would be good.” “I’ll get it, sir. You just take it easy.” “Thank you.” He collapsed gratefully onto the stacked pile of posts. The incongruity of a prisoner being called ‘sir’, and being waited on, had long ceased to bother him. In truth, no one took his ‘imprisonment’ or loss of rank at all seriously, and very little had changed. On duty, he was treated as a lep. Off duty, he’d never been one to claim officer privileges that much anyway, and since everyone from soldier to tezrei slept out in the open, regardless of seniority, it made no difference. He was treated with the same polite deference as any of the other officers in good standing, and on the only occasion when a soldier had made a less than respectful remark about him and the situation, the man had been bundled off and given a stern talking to by his fellows. The incident had not been repeated, though he was the subject of a good deal of sympathy and outrage, as well as curiosity. He refused to talk about it except to Tovoi, and then only regarding the statements in support of his defence. He had no idea how this business would end, but so far as he was concerned, the real crisis was not his spat with their governor, but the restoration of the town. Once that was done, he would have the luxury of worry. “Wepizi? Oy!” Wepizi looked up and waved, smiling as Neime spotted him and picked his way across the building site, weaving carefully around the hurrying workers, and dodging holes, piles of rocks, barrows, and posts. He had Jozin and young Giwade with him, somewhat to his surprise. The Blessed had been very discreet indeed—no one was speculating about their presence, or commenting on their sudden arrival, which Wepizi put down to Tovoi’s common sense and careful handling of the situation. He wondered why Neime was breaking cover now, after a week of staying out of sight. “Hello, my friends. Welcome to the Palace of the Winds.” “Palace?” Jozin asked, frowning.

“Winds?” Neime said. “Of course. You should be here when the breeze blows up.” Neime grinned a little at the joke. “Mind you, today I’m not complaining about any breeze. How are you, Giwade? How do you like it here?” “It’s good,” the youngster said quietly. “The big house is really nice. Except for Juimei.” Wepizi glanced quickly at Neime. “Is there a problem?” “No, not really—” “He’s very sad,” Giwade said, nodding at his own words. “He feels bad to me.” “Ah.” At least it wasn’t Juimei being actively unkind to them then. The two Blessed looked well enough, thin faces starting to fill a little, which made them look healthier. “Jozin, how is Laovei? And Nuveize? Is everyone settling in?” “Laovei is mending, so they say. She looks the same to me,” he said with a shrug. “Still really sick.” “She’s just got a lot of healing to do,” Neime said. “But there’s no infection. Having everyone around her helps. She’s still upset about Timinke.” “No doubt. And the others?” He’d been a little surprised Nuveize hadn’t spoken to him, but other than the first night they’d arrived, she’d not been in contact at all. “They love it,” Jozin said sourly. “Not you?” The boy stared off across Wepizi’s shoulder. “No. I’m just sitting around watching other people do stuff. And your Juimei hates me, I think.” “No, he doesn’t,” Neime quickly corrected. “Jozin, he really doesn’t. He even said thank you for the mine rescue and everything. He thought that was wonderful.” “Then why is he so grumpy and rude?” “Perhaps he’s in a bad mood and he’s not being careful to hide it,” Wepizi said. “How is he, Neime? Recovered?” The news of the prince’s sudden illness had sent alarm through the entire population, but it seemed it had simply been a severe migraine, debilitating to be sure, but not something more serious. Tovoi was kept apprised of the situation, but Wepizi wasn’t part of those briefings, and thought it best not to ask. The prince was a delicate subject these days in the camp. “Better. Working, though in his own office, and resting on the healer’s orders.” Neime delivered the words in a neutral tone that indicated nothing of his private feelings. Wepizi badly wanted to know those, and more about this illness, but he didn’t want to discuss it out here, or in front of the youngsters. “Glad to hear it,” was all he said, in an equally noncommittal voice. Jozin was still out of sorts. “What would you like to be up and doing, Jozin?”

The lad turned to him eagerly. Wepizi wondered if anyone had even asked this before. “Anything. I wasn’t brought up to be waited on. But everyone says I have to hide my powers, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in a town. I can hunt, find food, mend tools— tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it. I could lift that boat out of the river everyone keeps talking about, if people weren’t so stupid about us.” He had a point, a very good point, and one which Wepizi knew would come up sometime. “This is something that needs to be carefully planned, son. I’ll ask tezrei Tovoi about it. He’ll probably want to speak to his highness first.” Jozin pointed a finger at him. “You said you were tezrei. You said you’d protect us. And now look what’s happened. I don’t like any of this. The others are happy, but I think this was a big mistake.” Neime looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Giwade had a faraway look in his eyes as if he wished he could be anywhere else but here. “It’s only been a week. I promise to speak to Tovoi, and see what can be done. Please be patient, my friend. It’s a time when we all need to do that.” Jozin snorted and stomped off. Wepizi nearly called out for him to be careful, but it would just call unnecessary attention to the lad, and Jozin was old enough to watch out for himself. He seemed to know where he was going, at least. He got a few curious looks from the soldiers, but no one challenged him. “I’m sorry, Neime. I know he must feel betrayed.” “He’s not the only one,” Neime muttered. “Ah...has he written to his majesty yet?” A dispatch rider was finally being sent north, the first since the quake, and would be given many, many reports to take to Visiqe. Among them, one presumed, would be a nastily worded complaint about a singularly disobedient officer. Neime looked shifty. “Yes. I’m trying to talk him out of it.” Wepizi held up his hand. “No, don’t. Better to get this cleared up.” “I don’t understand any of this. And he’s so upset about it too. The last time he had a migraine this bad, it was after Count Mikinze...I mean, when he....” “Broke their engagement?” Neime shook his head. “No, not then, though that was pretty bad. After the count...came in and they had this argument. Juimei was just trying to understand why and the count...I’ve never wanted to literally kill someone before, Wepizi, but I did that day. I still do. He was so incredibly cruel, and Juimei was sick for over a week after it. This was as bad as that.” “I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. He doesn’t think I had any justification, and in the circumstances, an apology would make no difference.”

“But....” Neime clenched his fists. “He was doing so well. I really thought...now he’s more unhappy than he was before you arrived. I even wonder....” He glanced at Giwade, who was being surprisingly adult in his tolerance of this conversation. “If he might...end things. He’s come close a time or two.” Wepizi was alarmed—and more disturbed than he would have credited—by this speculation. “I truly hope he won’t. Not over this, or me. But I really don’t know what I can do.” “Me neither. I just have to hope being there is enough.” Neime smiled creakily. “I’m not really supposed to be here, but Jozin wanted to see you. So did I. I miss you. I know Jui will be angry that I came here, but you’re still my friend.” “And you’re mine. The prince can’t alter that. Ah, but I don’t wish you to get into trouble as well, so maybe....” “Will you come visit us again?” Giwade asked, sounding hopeful. Wepizi smiled at the boy, and put his hand on his shoulder. It was good to see the colour in his cheeks, even if he was finding the residence less than happy. “I’ll certainly try, son, though it might not be easy. What are you doing with yourself these days?” “The prince said we could use the library. Nuveize’s teaching us our letters properly, so we can go to lessons with the other children. I’m not sure I’ll like that.” “I think you might find it interesting. You should try it at least once,” Wepizi said, wondering how a child with his Blessing would cope with the minds of so many others, so close at hand. “If you don’t like it, then we’ll try something else.” The boy nodded. “I’d like to try. Hel is really excited about it. She wants to meet all the other children soon.” “Then I hope she shall. But maybe you and Neime had better go and see where Jozin ran off to. You know where to find me if you have to.” “Uh huh. Neime?” Neime took his hand again. “Yes, we should go. Wepizi...are things all right here? You shouldn’t have lost your post.” “Everything is just fine,” he said firmly. He’d spied young Benonti making his way back to him, carrying a canteen of water, and didn’t want this discussion to rouse the soldier’s curiosity. “You better go. I’ll speak to the tezrei.” “Tovoi, you mean. You’re tezrei,” Neime said stubbornly. “Not right now, I’m not. I’m glad you came by, Neime. It’s good to see you.” “And you. Thank you. Now, Giwade, let’s find that grumpy old Jozin, shall we?” Benonti had hung back politely, but now approached as Neime and Giwade walked off. He offered the water bottle to Wepizi, who took a swig gratefully. His throat was a dust pit. “Everything all right, sir?” Benonti asked, accepting the bottle and taking a drink himself.

“Pretty much. But I need to find the tezrei. Can you hold things down here for a bit?” “Yes, sir. He’s at the main barracks again—he came back from the camp an hour ago.” “Thank you. I’ll try not to leave you for too long.” The soldier dismissed his apology. “I should get someone else to do it—it’s a waste of an officer’s time.” Wepizi ignored the legal niceties. Benonti was one of his men from Tsikiugui and would always consider him an officer, whatever Juimei said or did. “We all have to pitch in. But I might have to send someone to help anyway, as I should really inspect those foundations before they start the new wall.” “Let me find someone, sir. You do what you need to.” “Thank you.” He was lucky with the people they’d brought with them. Resourceful, independent and not needing close supervision, they were just what was needed in this crisis. Even the sudden and scandalous replacement of their tezrei hadn’t thrown them for long. It would be a real wrench if his demotion turned out to be permanent—or he was forced out on a dishonourable discharge. Or worse—the death penalty lay on the books for the most serious acts of desertion and dereliction, though no one had been executed since the demise of the warlords. Still, Juimei was a prince and he was damn angry.... Wepizi shook his head. Now he was just being ridiculous—and self-pitying. There was more than enough of that nonsense going around. He should find Tovoi and do something positive for the plight of his new young friends. That would improve his mood, and would at least make his present situation worth the sacrifice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 22 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei very much disliked Neime’s new habit of coming into his office or the bedroom in a way that implied he thought he was about to be struck. He’d never raised his hand to his page, had done nothing to merit this caution, and he couldn’t help but find it unfailingly insulting. However, he refused to give the lad the satisfaction of knowing his attitude bothered him, so he merely said, without looking up again, “Tezrei Tovoi came to see me today. About Jozin.” “Oh.” “I was a little surprised to hear you had been down at the building site. I rather thought you had more important things to do.” “I...wanted to see Wepizi. They did too. That’s not a crime now, is it?” “Did I make any complaint about it?” He looked up. Neime was biting his lip. “The tezrei thinks we should announce the presence of the Blessed, and allow them to assist in the reconstruction. I wonder where he got that idea from.” “Um...Jozin mentioned it to Wepizi....” “I see,” Juimei said coldly, though he’d already guessed this. “Gracious of a prisoner to be so worried about such matters which do not concern him any longer.” “Jozin’s his friend. Like I am.” The lad jutted his chin out defiantly. “Why don’t you complain to his majesty about that?” “Perhaps I should complain about your inability to keep a civil tongue in your head lately, but I shan’t trouble my father with such a trivial matter, when he has the more serious one of the charges against your friend to consider.” Damn it, even mentioning the damn man made his head pound again. He still felt frail and vulnerable after his collapse, and the last thing he’d wanted was to discuss bloody Wepizi again. But once again, his hand was forced. He very much disliked the sense of not being in control of his destiny, never more than now. “What’s your opinion on the matter?” “You should back down. Wepizi did what he thought was right.” “On Jozin, Neime. The other’s not up for discussion now or ever.” Neime pursed his lips in irritation. “If Jozin wants to help, and he does, then we should use him as openly and honestly as possible. They’ve done nothing, are nothing to be ashamed of. Their powers could really help this town, the whole district. The whole country, if we could bring their kin back into society. That’s why his majesty put such a high value on doing just that—just like Wepizi said.”

His page simply wouldn’t let this drop, but Juimei couldn’t afford a new conflict with him. The only thing he could do was ignore the constant barbs, and wait for his father’s decision. In many ways, he didn’t care if the king didn’t agree with him, since he wasn’t stupid enough to think that there wasn’t room for argument, but damned if Wepizi would be the one to interpret his own father’s wishes for him. “Then perhaps you could invite our guests to eat their supper in here, and arrange a table and the food. I’m going to lie down for an hour.” He got to his feet, wishing his shoulders would cease aching for even a few moments. “Are you unwell again?” “No. I simply need to rest.” He found if he could stay polite and calm, the pain in his head tended to remain manageable. It was difficult when Neime was in a provocative mood. He often seemed to be of late. “Want me to massage your—” The response was instinctive, so guarded had he become on the subject. “No!” “But—” Juimei closed his eyes. “I said ‘no’. Be about your business, Neime.” He limped out of the office and then traversed the short distance to his bedroom. Once this had been his sanctuary, a well of peace and harmony in a life besieged by the things which threatened to crush him. But now the enemy was not just at the gates—it had breached his defences and taken up residence solidly within them. Now he had nowhere to hide from his demons, and they were likely to drive him mad before much longer. He lay on the bed and covered his face with his arm. Wepizi. Everything kept coming back to the man. Why had he ever allowed that massage that night? If he had not, he wouldn’t have been so off-kilter the next day, and if he’d been calmer, then Wepizi might have been more willing to listen to his calls to delay for a while. Not that it was assured—Juimei had no faith anymore in his ability to sway anyone, and for all he knew, Wepizi would have done exactly as he pleased, regardless. But he might not, and the hideous mess that had followed would not have happened at all. A needle of pain jabbed at his skull and he winced. A massage would ease it, but in his desperate search to find a place, any place, where he had some control over himself and his reactions, he’d had to forego all of the physical contact he’d once accepted as natural and ordinary from his friend and servant. He did not want to become a slave to longing again, he would not allow desires and wants to be part of him because they made him weak and susceptible to betrayal. Even opening the door to simple friendship had devastated him. How much more would opening his heart.... No, not his heart. His heart was a broken, useless thing. It wasn’t his heart that tormented him. It wasn’t his heart that made his head and neck the source of unbearable, constant agony, or which made his vision blur and dance. And the solution could not be—could never be—allowed.

~~~~~~~~ The rest did him little good, but it had been the healer’s advice, and lacking any other remedy, Juimei dutifully followed it. When he returned to his office, he found his desk had been moved back a little, and a small table and chairs brought in—they had dining rooms all over this damn mansion, but every one of them had been turned into a bedroom for the present. At least there wouldn’t be any complaints about him not hosting any official balls or dinners for a while. Neime was only waiting for him to arrive. “Nuveize’s on her way down—I’ll ask for the food to be brought in.” Juimei only grunted, food being of little interest to him on his best day, and certainly not now when his head ached like a demon with a pikestaff had taken up residence inside it. He sat at his desk and rubbed his temples distractedly. He would have to resort to drugs if this continued. Sooner or later he would have to return to the square to monitor the restoration, but right now, he only managed to sit at his own private desk for a few hours a day. It wasn’t enough—people needed more attention than he gave them. It would be months before he was relieved. He had to hold it together until the end of summer, at the very least. A tap at the door. He looked up. “Oh, come in, Helinoa. Nuveize, welcome.” He got up, but his guidance was unnecessary. The woman walked in gracefully, no sign at all of her blindness, and took a seat at the table. Jozin stalked in with Giwade behind him. “Where’s Iome?” “Still at the infirmary,” Nuveize said. “She’s really taken to that role. She’s talking about becoming a healer.” “Well, now,” Juimei said, surprised and pleased at this rare bit of good news. “That’s a remarkable thing—I’ll make sure she has every opportunity.” Nuveize nodded. “Thank you, your highness,” she said gravely. “She might change her mind, but she has a very kind nature. Being a healer might suit her very well.” “Indeed. Jozin, Giwade, please, take a seat. Neime won’t be long.” Jozin scowled at him as he obeyed. Juimei nearly sighed. The boy hated him, and it was all over Wepizi, he knew. Did the lad really think he wanted things to be this way? Nuveize turned her blind gaze his way. “He doesn’t understand.” Her talent made him intensely uncomfortable. So did she, with her blind, blank look, though that was scarcely her fault. His secrets were dark and unpleasant, and knowing she could read every thought he had, felt such a violation. There was nothing to be done about it, though, so he ignored it as best he could. It wasn’t as if he could stop her doing anything she pleased anyway, so worrying about it was singularly useless.

“Then explain. You can read my mind. You can read Wepizi’s. Sephiz knows no one else seems to know what’s going on.” “No, your highness. I can do nothing about your dislike of me, but I can at least ensure you have no reason to distrust me.” “I can’t help it,” he said defensively. “You could destroy me, my reputation, what’s left of my happiness, in moments.” Yes. I could. But it seems to me that the one who did the most harm to you, did so without my talent. You’ve no reason to fear me, Juimei. I’ll leave you and Wepizi to sort out your differences on your own, and if you want to befriend Jozin, then you’ll have to do that yourself. You might try smiling at him from time to time though. He thinks you hate him.” “I don’t!” “Then don’t act like you do. The lad had just lost his home and his purpose, even though it had to be this way. He responds to honesty and kindness, same as anyone.” “I respond to manners. He seems to lack those completely.” She only arched an eyebrow at him, and he didn’t need her mental speech to know she was implying Jozin wasn’t the only one without manners. She said nothing more to him, which was something of a relief, since the few interactions he’d had with Nuveize had tended to leave him feeling rather inadequate. He’d not spent much time with any of them because of his illness. Having made sure they had all the necessities of life, given them free run of the library, and offered anything they might need, he’d only spoken to them a handful of times. He gathered from Neime and his staff they were settling in quietly, but now the question of their role in this town, even in Andonese society as a whole, forced itself upon his addled attention. He wished he was in a better mood, and less pain, but he’d found life very rarely arranged itself to his convenience. He smiled at his guests, trying to be a good host, but at a loss how to start a conversation with people with whom he had almost nothing in common. “Helinoa, are you enjoying the books in the library?” “Yes. Neime says we can go to school here soon.” “Does he? Well, I would think you should. You’d have to restrain your talent though, even if you really wanted to use it. The other children would be frightened by it.” “I know that,” she said as if he was rather stupid. “People don’t understand. We know about normals.” “Ah. Well...good. The school won’t reopen for a while, though.” “I know. I’m not in a hurry,” she said calmly, and despite himself, Juimei laughed at her adult-sounding comment. “I’m not,” she said with a scowl. “No, of course not. Forgive me, I meant no offence. Perhaps we could introduce you to some of the other children your age. You too, Kilinze.”

“School sounds interesting, but I don’t want to play with normals. They’re boring.” Juimei lifted an eyebrow at this statement. “Oh. And how many have you played with recently?” “None,” he said simply. “But they’re boring. Cos I can make fire and they can’t.” “Kilinze, don’t be rude,” Nuveize murmured. “I can’t make fire—does that make me boring?” “No, but you can read minds. He can’t do anything,” he said scornfully, looking at Juimei. “Not like you, no,” Juimei said. Strangely, the boy’s arrogance didn’t annoy him as much as it might. This wasn’t malice, or aimed at him—just a child with a very limited experience, speaking out of ignorance. “Most people in Andon can’t make fire or read minds. That doesn’t make them boring.” “You are. You never go out of the house.” “Kilinze! Behave or I’ll send you upstairs without supper. Apologise, now,” Nuveize snapped. The boy pouted. “Sorry,” he muttered, though without much sincerity. Juimei answered the words, not the tone, if only to encourage the boy to behave. “Apology accepted. As for not going out, I’ve not been feeling well.” Jozin gave him a dirty look, but Juimei ignored it. “People don’t really appreciate being called ‘boring’, you know. If you want to live in this town, or any town, you need to remember your manners.” Kilinze shrugged, then looked at Nuveize. “Where’s the food? I’m hungry.” She frowned at him. “And you’ll stay that way if you don’t behave. Good grief, Kilinze. Yuzin would be horrified at this display.” The name of Nuveize’s dead lover had more impact than anything she’d said, because the child nodded. “Sorry,” he said again, and this time, sounded like he meant it. “But I’m hungry.” “So am I,” Juimei lied, but then, having spotted Neime near the door, “and here comes supper now.” His servants laid the dishes of soup, cooked vegetables and fresh bread in front of them— using the good porcelain as if he really was entertaining formally. Juimei dismissed them, saying they would serve themselves, and Neime did just that, ladling out the soup while Jozin cut the bread into thick slices. Nuveize managed to restrain the ravenous Kilinze until everyone had food in front of them, and then the child eagerly fell to, as did the others. They had enormous appetites, so Neime had reported, but they were making up for a lean time. It was a good thing food was one of the few things they hadn’t had to worry about in this disaster. The children and Neime chatted together, Jozin and Nuveize commenting a little as needed. Juimei stayed quiet, but as he ate, he observed them. It was really his first chance to do so. Helinoa was the most charming of the children—a sunny, confident girl who lorded it over

Giwade and Kilinze quite unashamedly. Kilinze was also confident, brash, and rather impulsive —Juimei was worried what that might mean if he mixed with other children. Giwade was very different—shy, very quiet, never speaking until spoken to. His talent was a difficult one, Juimei recalled—he not only could sense the emotions of others, he could see them, like an aura. Not a gift Juimei would want, and one which might make it very difficult to integrate Giwade with other people. None of them would find it easy to fit in—not Jozin with his overdeveloped protectiveness, nor Kilinze with his dislike of ‘normals’. Or Laovei and Nuveize with their disabilities. “You manage somehow,” she said, lifting her head and ‘looking’ at him. “Do I? Not very well. And none of you are princes of the blood. That’s the only thing that makes people tolerate me.” “No, your highness. I can confidently say that’s not the case. Though it might have saved you a punch in the nose or two, considering how rude you can be when you put your mind to it.” “I don’t think any of us are the best examples of perfect manners, madam. You know what I want to talk to Jozin about, don’t you? What’s your opinion?” “That the process I started by accepting Wepizi’s invitation, cannot be easily stopped. Nor should it. More than that, I leave to you and to Jozin. You are, after all, king in this region,” she said with a mocking little bow. “Perhaps you think you should rule in my place.” She seemed rather startled, but then she nodded. “I deserve that. Forgive me, Juimei. You’re not the only one out of sorts, or with a headache.” He was surprised to hear her admit that, since she showed such a cool, calm façade most of the time. Nothing really seemed to upset her. “You’re unwell? You should have said.” She lifted her hand a little to silence him. “A headache. Worry. Sadness. You know these things and the effect. I have too little to occupy me, these days.” He bowed his head, acknowledging her words. “Then that’s something at least I can remedy, for if you would allow it, your talent could be a great boon to this area.” They were getting onto the reason for him calling them together, so he decided it was time to begin the discussion with the rest. “Everyone? Have you finished?” “Nearly,” Kilinze said, hastily spooning more soup into his mouth, but when Nuveize poked him, he added, “yes, your highness.” “Good,” Juimei said. “I asked you to come here because we, this town, the people, all need your help. Jozin’s indicated he’s more than willing to do so, but since we can hardly use him and not reveal your existence, it’s something you all have to decide. How do you feel about your presence, your powers, being widely known? For the normals to know about you,” he said, using more simple terms for Kilinze’s sake.

Helinoa’s eyes widened, and she looked at Jozin. The lad scowled fiercely, which seemed to intimidate her. “Won’t they be scared? People get scared of us.” “Yes, they may well do,” Juimei said, smiling a little to reassure her and take the sting from his words. “But it won’t be like your settlement. You won’t be a secret, and no one will try to suppress you. If we do this, we do it proudly, and you would all be acting as the agents of his majesty. My father,” he corrected. “You would be able to prove you were trustworthy and safe, and nothing to be afraid of. They do it this way in Darshian. People like you live openly under the protection of the Rulers, and serve their country. That’s what I’m offering to you. We’ll shelter you, feed you, support you. And you’d help the town, and this region, as and when you feel you can.” “I’m not working for the damn king. I came here because of Wepizi. If he’s not in charge, then I don’t want to do this,” Jozin said, an obstinate set to his mouth. Neime looked at Juimei as if to say “I told you”. Juimei ignored his disobedient page. He wished he could ignore the throb in his head too. “Wepizi’s involvement at this time can’t be allowed.” “Then that’s too damn bad, isn’t it? You can fix your own damn town.” He flung his serviette down and got up from the table. “Joz, mind your manners,” Nuveize said. “And sit down. We haven’t finished the meal, or the discussion. Your highness, does your support depend on our cooperation?” “Not in the least. Though it would make justifying your presence and that support easier, that’s not the reason for this. Jozin, you were the one who said you wanted to help. I don’t understand why you’re making Wepizi a condition now.” “Because it’s wrong what you’re doing to him!’ the boy said, his eyes flashing with anger. “He wanted to help us and then you punished him. How can we trust you when you do that to him?” Juimei closed his eyes, wishing he’d not brought this up now, or ever. “I don’t know. You’ve a right to your opinion, and you can withhold your assistance as you wish. But I’m not going to discuss how I govern this region with you, or justify my decisions. If that’s your final word, so be it.” He picked up his glass and sipped from it, wondered how soon he could gracefully leave this disaster for Neime to fix. He would not be blackmailed over Wepizi, not by this child, not by Neime, or anyone. There was an uncomfortable silence. Juimei ignored the glares from Jozin, and Nuveize’s cool assessment. He felt sorry for young Giwade—the boy should not be subjected to this unpleasantness—but it was too late to fix that.

When it seemed no resolution would be found, not tonight at least, he got to his feet. “Sorry to have wasted your time,” he said, the pain in his head making him more curt than was polite. “Good evening.” He limped out, and went back to his bedroom. He sat down on one of the armchairs, and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea what he was doing with those children. There was no way of compelling them to do the least thing, not that he wanted to, but if they were going to try and force him to do something in exchange for their cooperation, they’d picked the wrong person to deal with. The problem was, he didn’t know how to go forward. He wouldn’t beg for Jozin’s assistance, but if the lad and the others had no purpose in life, they might end up causing mischief, or becoming the focus of complaints if they were seen as nothing but pampered idlers. Already there had been a comment or two from Gimoz and the other servants indicating the household was speculating quite energetically about the newcomers. Nothing Juimei could do or say was likely to do other than make that worse. Speculation was bound to spread. Even if he had mere months left in this post, he couldn’t leave the problem to his successor—by then, it would be too late. The damage would be done. Perhaps the answer was to send them back to their mountain home and arrange for some kind of supply route. It would mean returning them to what sounded a solitary and narrow existence, but if they weren’t able to integrate here, then they would hardly be better off. It was a very great pity, because they could do a lot for this town, at this time. Lep...Tezrei Tovoi had been quite enthused about all the things they could ask Jozin to help them with, let alone Helinoa and the others. And Nuveize could help them contact the remote patrols and find out what was going on throughout the region, even if no practical help could be sent just now. He sighed. He’d failed. He hadn’t even come close to succeeding. It had been a waste of his time and theirs, and all he’d got out of it was a worsened headache and indigestion. It wasn’t enough that he didn’t feel like eating most of the time—lately what he did manage to persuade himself to eat, became a source of torture. He knew there were many people in the town worse off than he was. He just found it hard to think of them when he ached and hurt in so many different parts of himself. He levered himself up, intending to ring for hot water, not feeling up to a full wash. As he did so, the bedroom door opened, and Neime slipped into the room, his expression shuttered. Juimei longed for a return to the time when they’d been easy with each other, but that time was probably gone forever. “I suppose they’ve all gone to bed?” “They’ve gone upstairs at least. Jui, will you get angry if I talk to you about Wepizi?” “Yes. I won’t discuss my decisions.”

His page twisted his hands, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I wasn’t going to ask you to do that. Jui, please—if I can’t even mention his name....” “What do you want to say? I warn you, this is a subject which is becoming almost unbearably provocative. First Jozin, now you...I won’t be bullied.” “No. Would you sit? I’m not trying to make you angry, I swear.” Grunting with annoyance, Juimei did as he suggested, then glared up at his friend. “Well?” Neime took the other seat. “You can see Jozin’s point, can’t you? They come to the town with Wepizi’s assurance of protection, and then suddenly Wepizi’s not dealing with them.” “It’s unfortunate, but I told Wepizi before he left what the consequences of his action would be. If you have a problem with that, you should talk to him. I will not change my mind.” “Sephiz forbid,” Neime muttered. “If you’re just going to insult me, I’d rather you took yourself off to be with your new friends. I don’t want an attendant who loathes me.” “I don’t,” Neime said, sounding rather weary. “I just...wish this wasn’t like this.” “And you think I do? You think Wepizi bears no blame at all, because of course, it must be the evil, crippled fool of a governor at fault, and not our saintly friend. It couldn’t possibly be that Wepizi acted in a highhanded fashion that could have had terrible consequences for all of us, oh no. It must be me who caused the problem. Is there a point to this conversation? I’m really not in a mood for another round of ‘let’s tell Juimei what an idiot he is’.” He started to get up again, but Neime leaned over and put his hand on his arm. “Wait. I’m sorry.” Juimei sat back. “Look...I spoke to Jozin and the others. He’s agreed that if Wepizi is involved in some way, maybe even just consulted, about how he and the rest of them fit into the plans for the restoration, then they’ll cooperate. But they won’t deal with Tovoi on his own. They don’t know him, and they like Wepizi. You can’t blame them for that.” “Wepizi is a prisoner on parole. It’s utterly inappropriate for him to have any official role in this at all.” “I know...but unofficially? Please, Juimei, bend a little, at least for the sake of the town.” Juimei’s mouth thinned in anger. “You say that to me, when Wepizi wasn’t even prepared to wait an hour to discuss his decision to leave with them? Why am I to be so flexible, when he is not?” “I’m not talking to Wepizi now. I’m talking to you.” “Only because of Wepizi. It’s not as if my company holds any charm for you anymore.” “You only seem to open your mouth these days to issue another complaint, so why would it?” Struck to his very core by the insult, he barely clung on to his temper. “Well, thank you,” he said in a tight voice, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a painful grimace. “That’s enough

now, Neime. Be so kind as to have someone bring me water to bathe with, and perhaps you could send someone along to help me who finds me less offensive. You might also like to find somewhere else to sleep.” He got up and limped away over to the window, staring out on the moonlit garden, steadfastly ignoring his page, and trying not to be sick at yet another betrayal, another rejection. For a broken coin, he would gut himself with a letter opener, and spare everyone, including himself, his hated company. All was silence. Just once, he thought. Just once he would like Neime to do as he asked and not make him have to order him again. But then he heard his page get up from his chair. “Jui.” He didn’t turn around, but then he jumped slightly as Neime took his arm. Then, to his surprise, the lad rested his forehead on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. That was unkind and unfair.” Yes. Yes, it was. But all the same, he patted Neime’s head. “It’s all right. I forgive you. This isn’t easy for you either.” He eased himself away gently, not wanting to cause offence, but not wanting to prolong the contact. “Could you just give me a little time to think about it? If Wepizi had done that, we mightn’t be in this situation in the first place.” “Would it really be different?” Neime asked. “All I wanted was time to plan. Jozin bounced Wepizi into action before I had the chance to think how any of this affected us. I don’t know why everyone thinks it was unreasonable of me to try and think of more than Jozin and his friends. It’s not like they’re the only people in the region.” “No,” Neime said. “I hadn’t thought.... I’m sorry, I—” Juimei ruefully shook his head. “Assumed it was just my temper. Ah, well...I suppose you had reason. But I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. The situation with Wepizi is serious. His actions were reckless, and whatever the justification, he disobeyed a direct order. I can’t pretend these things don’t matter just because Jozin throws a tantrum. I will not be ruled by him, do you understand?” “I understand,” Neime said quietly, almost humbly. “I’ll tell him you’ll think about it.” “Thank you.” Juimei really wanted to lie down. “Perhaps you could do that now, and send someone in with the hot water.” “I can bring it...or did you mean that about me sleeping elsewhere?” He almost did, but he couldn’t do it to Neime now, when he was so conciliatory. “No. But I’d like a few minutes alone.” “Are you sure you don’t want the massage? You know it helps.” Yes, it did. But it would make other things worse. “I just need to rest. Please...just go.”

His page gave him a worried look, squeezed his arm, and then, thankfully, obeyed, leaving Juimei to sink back onto the chair and rub futilely at his temples. Three more months, with luck. Three more months and he could lay down this task with honour. And then maybe Wepizi’s benevolent god might even allow him to rest, at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 23 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ By the time Wepizi and Tovoi arrived in the square, there was already quite a crowd. Even though it was only supposed to be the elders, the mayor and a few other senior persons, somehow word had got around, and there were nearly a hundred people waiting for the arrival of Juimei and the Blessed. Wepizi wasn’t at all sure about this, but he was there completely voluntarily— the point had been made several times that his attendance was his choice alone, and it would not affect the outcome of the case against him. An unnecessary emphasis had been placed on that point, though he’d had no hesitation in agreeing. What his actual role was to be, he had no idea— he’d not been involved in those discussions. His status was punctiliously observed, almost to the point of absurdity. The prince was being more spiteful than Wepizi would have thought him capable of. It tended to diminish his faith in human goodness, just a little. He wondered at so many people having the leisure to stand around and gawp. The rebuilding was going pretty well, but it wasn’t even two weeks since the earthquake, and there was still so much to be done. Certainly there were plenty of people who had better things to do, and the square, the market, were all busy with carts and barrows and workers off to one of the many sites of reconstruction. Perhaps these few wanted a break, or perhaps their curiosity simply overrode all other considerations. He didn’t know. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a disaster for the Blessed—the potential for it all going wrong was enormous. There was a ripple of excitement as two vehicles came into the square—the little doig-trap, and a cart behind, Jozin’s red hair an easily spotted beacon. Neime drove the trap, of course, with Juimei stiff and blank-faced beside him. They pulled up to the podium, and Neime helped the prince out, taking his arm to lead him up the stone stairs. The others filed up onto the platform as the prince and Neime took their seats. “Us too,” Tovoi said, heading for the dais. Wepizi followed, and as he mounted the stairs, he got some very wide grins from Jozin and Kilinze. Iome and Helinoa were also happy to see him. Nuveize nodded, looking satisfied. “Where’s Giwade?” he asked. “With Laovei,” Jozin said. “Come and sit down.” “Uh...in a minute, Jozin,” Wepizi said. It was impolite to sit before invited to do so by the prince, and the prince hadn’t seemed to even notice he was there. Except he had to know, because he was so determinedly looking in every other direction. “Don’t mind him, I made him let you come.”

That made the prince’s head swivel around, and then he looked up at Wepizi, expression still carefully blank. He said nothing, but Wepizi knew perfectly well what the problem was. “No, Jozin. He agreed to let me be here.” He kept his voice low and his expression pleasant, because they were in full view of the waiting crowd. “I told him I wouldn’t do this unless you were here, so he had to let you.” “Wepizi?” Wepizi turned back to the prince. “Yes, your highness?” “I regret that your presence is not required after all. Would you be so kind as to return to the barracks?” Wepizi bowed, keeping his face neutral. “Yes, your highness.” Juimei too, did not reveal his emotions. Wepizi respected that, and why he was doing this. He turned and headed towards the steps. “Hey! Wepizi, you can’t go!” Jozin was on his feet, and glaring at the two of them. “I’m sorry, Jozin,” Wepizi said, carefully keeping his voice calm. “I’m here under a misapprehension, it seems.” “Yes, you are,” Juimei said. “I thought it would make our friends more comfortable to have you here, Wepizi. At no time was it intended to be a condition of cooperation, and nor will I allow it to be one. This demonstration is cancelled. Neime?” Neime stood, clearly deeply upset, but taking Juimei’s arm as requested. “Wait!” Jozin stared at the prince, utterly bewildered. “I said he had to be here!” he said, sweeping a hand in Wepizi’s direction. “Yes. And I told you that I wouldn’t be blackmailed,” the prince pointed out. “After consideration of the matter, I thought you might find Wepizi’s presence of some benefit, so he was invited to come along. But that’s all, Jozin. Wepizi, please, go back to the barracks.” Wepizi tried to obey, but found himself frozen in place. “My friend,” he said through gritted teeth, turning his eyes to Jozin. “Do this, and you will never see or speak to me again. Let me go.” He was freed quite suddenly, nearly stumbling. Pulling himself upright, he found Jozin in his face. “You can’t! I want you here!” “I have my orders, Jozin. If you want his highness to change them, I suggest you mend your manners, and quickly, before this becomes a scene.” Jozin narrowed his eyes angrily. “You’re on his side.” “We’re all on the same side, my friend. You, me, his highness, Neime—all for the good of this town, this region and the country. If you’re not, then you must be my enemy for I act on the orders of the king and council, for Andon.” And if his highness wants to argue over that, let him. “I’m not your enemy,” Jozin said in a confused, hurt voice.

“Then you must be a friend,” Wepizi said, smiling, glancing quickly at the prince and getting the smallest nod. “Come, let’s sit and you can show people what you can do.” The prince could have pushed it. Wepizi could too. Jozin certainly might have, but it was best with this boy—most people, in fact—to give him time to think and plan his response. If he pushed it later, he would find Wepizi and the prince quite united in their response on this. For now, it was better to keep things calm and pleasant. Wepizi took his seat next to Nuveize, with Tovoi on his other side. “Tricky,” Tovoi muttered. “Very,” Wepizi agreed. Now peace had been restored, Juimei rose. He seemed about to speak, but then, to Wepizi’s startled surprise, he heard his words not in his ears, but in his mind. “Welcome, everyone.” The entire crowd jerked in shock, and an excited babble broke out. Juimei raised his hands in a soothing gesture. “Everyone, please. Calm down, and I’ll explain. There is no danger.” The noise dropped off. Juimei was now the focus of rapt and undivided attention. “Thank you. I know this is a surprise, and in some ways, a great risk, not for us, but for these people here. My friends, these are some of the Blessed. I know you won’t have ever encountered them before, so this will be something of an experience for all of you. Nuveize? Please, introduce yourself.” She got to her feet unaided. “Thank you, your highness. I am Nuveize, and I’m Blessed with the power of mind speech. That’s how his highness could speak to you as he did.” She bowed a little, then gestured to the girl beside her. “This is Helinoa. She can move objects with her mind. Hel? Would you care to show us a little?” Wepizi nearly jumped out of his skin as he began to rise, chair and all. The crowd gasped as one, and again, excited comment broke out as he floated above them, still seated in his chair, and feeling distinctly foolish. He gave Helinoa a wry look—she just grinned up at him, then brought him gently back down again. He tried to look insouciant as Tovoi blinked. “Sephiz’s beard!” “I’m told you get used to it,” he said, stroking his moustache and hiding his smile. It had been a good prank, he had to admit it. “Thank you, Helinoa. And thank you, Wepizi. I hope we won’t have to use you as an example too much.” He essayed an ironic bow in Nuveize’s direction. “Jozin has the same powers as Helinoa, though being older, he has rather more control and ability. Kilinze is Blessed by fire. Kilinze?” The boy was just waiting for his chance. With a cheeky look, he jumped up and spread his hands. At once a massive fireball exploded over their heads, sending everyone fleeing and screaming. “Kilinze! Stop that!” Jozin yelled.

“Damn it!” Tovoi shouted, jumping up and signalling to his soldiers to restore calm. “Kilinze, stop it!” The fireball suddenly shrank to a mere handspan, became no brighter than half a dozen candles. But the harm had already been done. Where there had been curiosity, now there was fear, and in a more than few faces, raw terror. As the fireball disappeared completely, people stood, and many bolted straight for the mayor’s residence, seeking safe harbour from this menace. Wepizi got to his feet, and put his hands to his mouth. “Everyone—wait! Please—come back. You won’t be harmed!” Juimei came to his side. “Yes, come back! The boy won’t hurt you. Kilinze, apologise.” Wepizi nudged the boy, and though he got a sulky pout, the next thing he heard was Kilinze’s piping voice in his head. “It’s all right, honest. I was showing off. Come back—I won’t hurt anyone, I promise.” A few of the hardier souls stopped and turned, and one or two walked back, though with no great enthusiasm. The three of them kept cajoling and reassuring until nearly all the onlookers were near the podium—some clearly would not return, and those that did, kept a wary eye on Kilinze. “Not funny or clever, my friend,” Wepizi muttered to the boy. “I’m sorry.” He did actually look shame-faced. Pity the lessons never seemed to stick. “You will be,” Nuveize said in a stern voice. “Everyone, please—I apologise for the youngster. He has no manners at all.” “That he has not,” Elder Frankel said grumpily. “No, he hasn’t,” Wepizi said, tugging Kilinze in front of him, and wagging his finger. “Behave.” “I will, I promise.” “Good.” Wepizi suddenly realised he had exceeded his position by some way. He bowed politely to the prince, who only nodded, his expression revealing nothing at all. He sat down, and resisted the urge to put a certain Blessed over his knee for such an idiotic prank. “I think we’ve had enough of you, my lad,” Nuveize said quellingly, and Kilinze sat down. “Allow me to introduce Iome, who definitely has more manners. She has the power of winds. Iome?” A breeze began to blow, gently at first, and then it became a rushing gale, very tightly focussed, slamming shut the doors of a series of shops, and making the flag on the mayoral residence fly completely straight. A pile of dust and leaves was turned into a little whirlwind that danced prettily around the crowd, and there was some nervous laugher as she made it bow and flutter in front of the prince like a puppet, before releasing it into a sad little heap on the ground.

“Thank you, dear. And there you have it. One of us is ill and in the infirmary, so she can’t meet you today—she has power over water. The other is Blessed by the senses.” She bowed. “Very glad to meet you all.” The onlookers still seemed rather stunned, and there was a lot of muttering, the tone of which Wepizi could only guess at from his position. Juimei took the opportunity to come forward again. “Everyone, Nuveize and her kind have been living in hiding since the era of the warlords. This is the first time any of them have appeared in public, or shown their powers. They have asked for refuge in this town, and I have gladly offered it.” A familiar figure pushed his way forward—Mayor Gixiel. “All very well, your highness— but can these party tricks serve this town or are we to support them simply to avoid being roasted?” Wepizi turned a baleful eye on the mayor—what an unimaginative creature. Juimei smiled pleasantly. “Funny you should mention that, your honour. You will recall that the mine road was miraculously cleared by another small earthquake a week ago? That was no earthquake—it was our friend, Jozin.” The mayor looked rather startled, but collected himself. “So you claim,” he said heavily. “Yes, I do. You’re not calling me a liar, I sincerely hope.” The mayor scowled, but said no more. Juimei smiled again, though with no real affection behind it. “However, I understand your scepticism. Jozin has agreed to another, somewhat more useful demonstration, but it requires us to go down by the river. Who among you cares to attend?” The mayor looked about him, then raised his hand. “Of course I will. I’m not scared of these children.” “You should be,” Wepizi thought. Nuveize turned to him, an ironic smile on her lips. “No offence, of course.” “Of course.” Several others raised their hands. “Come on, this is a chance to see something to tell your grandchildren about,” Juimei said. A few more hands were raised. “Fine. Jozin?” Without any gesture, or even apparent emotion, Jozin acted, and once again Wepizi found himself floating in the air. This time he had company—a dozen astonished civilians, the soldiers, the prince, Neime, and all the Blessed. “Everyone, be calm—you’re completely safe,” Juimei assured them, as the people left behind pointed up at them and called, some in obvious fear. “You won’t fall. Anyone else want to join us? Anyone want to go back?” No one wanted to leave, and two more people were levitated slowly up to join the rest of their party. The mayor kept blinking as if he simply could not believe his eyes. Tovoi made a

good fist of staying calm, but his eyes were wide with surprise nonetheless. “By the benevolent god, this is....” “Incredible, yes, I know. It’s even more impressive when you’re looking down on top of the Tuqul range.” Tovoi stared at him. “Is that where you went that day? This is what caused all the ruckus?” “Yes. Let’s not discuss that here,” he added, since the prince was giving him an odd look. “Everyone, we’re just going downriver. Relax—you’ll come to no harm,” Jozin said, again showing that once he used his powers, he was a lot happier and more confident. Like the good soldier he was, Tovoi got over his shock quickly enough and used the unexpected vantage point to do as Wepizi had done a week before and assess the damage to the town. “It looks so much worse up here. Overwhelming.” “But it’s not. The main fault is about twenty miles northeast, across the mine road. It could have been worse.” “Yes—it could have happened at night,” Tovoi said soberly. Wepizi nodded—they had been lucky. Or blessed. One or the other. He realised Jozin was heading for the lock and sunken ship, and knew now what the display would be. Everyone else seemed rather confused—at least, those not privy to the plans. The Blessed had apparently arranged this themselves. Only Tovoi and the prince had been involved. Jozin brought them all to almost above the lock, near the bluffs which had shivered and spilled boulders down so fatally upon the river. The lock keeper’s house had been all but destroyed—fortunately, no one had been inside at the time, but it was uninhabitable, and he and his family were now refugees in Dizeindo. Not that he was needed for now—the lock gates were jammed by the rocks and rubble that had spilled down the cliff face, and the lock itself barricaded by the sunken barge. Until the lock was operational again, no boat bigger than a canoe would get past the weir, and the mayor’s paper and cloth would have to stay where they were. But help might be at hand, Wepizi suspected. “Everyone, stay calm.” That was Jozin again, before he and Helinoa flew down closer to the lock. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but then the water began to boil, and Wepizi heard the grinding of rock against rock, low and threatening. Suddenly something breached the lock’s surface, and shot above it—a boulder as big as a doig, as fast as a pebble from a slingshot, sent high into the air to be crushed in a massive crack and explosion, the gravel pouring back down over the river. People gasped in shock, staring up at the remains of a ton of rock, ground up like a handful of breadcrumbs and scattered to the winds. That was only the start. Massive stones and piles of rubble in and around the lock gates rose like so much dust, floating gently high over their heads, up over the cliff and out of sight. The lock gates were freed, just like that. Helinoa gestured, and the great stones and rocks that had

crushed the lock keeper’s house also rose and disappeared past the cliffs, leaving the sad remnants of a family home at the waterside. The lock keeper wouldn’t be returning there for a while—and they would need to resite it, in case another earthquake repeated the damage. But for now, the most pressing problem was the submerged barge, its hull obscenely exposed to their gaze in the narrow lock. Jozin waved his hand at it. “Your highness, do you want it on or out of the water?” “Tezrei?” Wepizi almost answered, then remembered in time to keep his mouth shut. Tovoi cleared his throat. “Depends on if it’ll float.” “Try it on the water first, please, Jozin,” Juimei said. Jozin nodded, and the water churned as the boat started to move. More gasps of surprise, no one yet immune to the amazement that Jozin’s powers wrought. He ignored everything but the task in hand, and even the cheerful Helinoa also concentrated hard. This would be something well out of their experience, and Wepizi hoped for everyone’s sake, they could handle this, because experts in such a manoeuvre were unlikely to be easily found. Slowly the drowned ship rose, streaming water in great torrents out of bilges and portholes, and, as it was turned over, off its damaged decks. Higher and higher the boat came, until it was quite clear of the river, and then Jozin let it hang there in the air to drain. “Wepizi? Do you want to examine it?” “Tezrei Tovoi and his highness might want to do so,” Wepizi corrected. “We all should,” the prince said politely. “Jozin?” The three of them drifted down closer to the boat. “The hull doesn’t seem to be breached, though the masts are ruined,” Tovoi said, once he’d had a chance to look it over. “I’m no expert in boats, but I’d have thought it could be moored and repaired. Can he bring it up river?” “Jozin?” Juimei asked. “Can you carry it as far as the docks at the town?” “Of course,” the boy said carelessly, and the boat moved along the course of the river, like a ghost vessel. Everyone floated along in its wake, the broken ship trailing water along the river. As they approached the town and the temporary camp, they caused huge excitement. People washing, doing laundry, or fetching water, stopped dead at the sight—there were screams of terror, but there were also gasps and cries of raw astonishment. Children ran, trying to chase the strange caravan, but they had no hope of catching it—for all the silence and the effortlessness of their motion, they travelled faster than the fastest doig could ever manage, and they approached the docks in only a couple of minutes. There, the boat was lowered carefully to the water, sending huge waves against the jetty, to the consternation of the dock workers and the few still manning the now silent mills. Tovoi told

Jozin how to position the thing, and Jozin even considerately tossed down the mooring ropes, before bringing everyone back to earth, down on the long jetty. “By the benevolent god! How astonishing! A miracle indeed!” the mayor cried, clapping his hands together in glee. “Your highness, if these young people can be put to work in this town, think of how productive we could be! We could all make a fortune.” The man, fool though he was, realised his danger as Juimei approached, his expression as cold and haughty as Wepizi had ever seen it. “You see people who can literally move a mountain with a thought, and all you can think is how you can use them in your bloody mills, your honour? You’re a fool. A greedy, stupid, limited fool. Jozin and his kin are not your servants. They’re not anyone’s servants. What service they give is given freely. What support we give is given without thought of return.” “But I would pay them—” “I don’t need your money, old man. I can pull gemstones out of the mountains, if wealth is all I want,” Jozin said with a sneer. “Besides, you’re ugly.” “Joz, don’t be rude,” Nuveize murmured. “At least, not too rude.” Wepizi hid a grin behind his hand and his moustache. “I won’t work for him,” Kilinze said. “I’m going to school.” “Only if you promise not to set things on fire,” Juimei said quellingly. “I think you can take it that you won’t be making a fortune off the talents of the Blessed, Mayor Gixiel. Which is fortunate, because his majesty and council have made it well known that the Blessed are assets for our entire nation. They may reside here now. We don’t ‘own’ them.” The silly man huffed at the prince. “But we’re to have the expense of feeding them, I see.” “Offset it with what the river being cleared just saved you, you damn idiot. Anyone else got any questions?” Tovoi cleared his throat. “Your highness—if the young people would like to help in the reconstruction, there are many things they could do.” Wepizi got the impression this had been rehearsed between Tovoi and the prince. “Naturally,” Juimei said with a much more pleasant smile. “Jozin and the others have already offered to do that. The reason I wanted you to meet them all is that you’d all better get used to seeing people flying, and the occasional fireball,” he said, giving Kilinze a reproachful look. “The Blessed have been persecuted, feared, driven from their homes, and their families killed. That time is long past. They now dwell under the personal protection of the king and council. No one will harass or harm them.” “And what about them harming us?” someone called out from the back. “That boy could fry us to a crisp.” “Yes, he could. He could have done that at any point before today. But he won’t. I have their personal oaths no one will be harmed or threatened by their talents, and if there is a dispute or

harassment, my office will deal with it. We have a covenant. Not one entered into lightly, and one which I plan to uphold with all the power at my disposal. The details might need a little polishing, but I know I can trust even our most impetuous young friend here not to abuse his position.” “Time will tell,” one of the elders muttered. “I suppose that makes you their keeper, does it, your highness?” “I’ll settle for ‘friend’.” Juimei’s glare could have shattered ice. “Keepers work with animals. Not people.” The elder cleared his throat. “No, of course. I meant no disrespect.” “Of course not. But people will take their tone from you all,” Juimei said, looking at all the civilians, even the soldiers. “If you incite fear, they’ll feel fear. If you see this as the benefit I believe it to be, then our friends will be welcomed, and their assistance gratefully received. I think you can imagine which will serve this community best.” Nuveize smiled at them all. “You have nothing to fear from us, truly. We’re much more afraid of you.” One of the women raised her hand. “Uh, you mentioned school. Do you mean to have these children in with the others?” Wepizi recalled she was one of the teachers. “Yes, if possible. I realise the difficulties,” Juimei said. “Not least because these seven have been isolated most of their lives. But Kilinze is prepared to exercise restraint—or have it exercised for him,” he added with a quelling look at the grinning youngster. “We should at least try, don’t you think?” “Yes, your highness. Maybe once things settle, we could talk to them, see how they want to proceed.” “I leave that up to you, you’re the expert, not I. Anyone else? Then we’re done. Thank you all—I know this has been a momentous experience. I hope not an unpleasant one.” People bowed, and then walked back along the pier. As they did, dockers approached and asked for permission to board the ship. Juimei gave it, and indicated that he and the others should get out of the way. “Jozin, perhaps you could return us to the residence.” Jozin nodded, and once again, Wepizi and the others floated upwards, and headed the short distance north to the governor’s residence. He brought them to rest in the stable yard, to the astonishment of the stable master and lads. Juimei gave them brief assurances, then dismissed them. “Well done, Jozin,” the prince said, turning to the Blessed. “Well done, all of you. Except you, you little brat,” he said aiming a cuff at Kilinze’s head. The boy only grinned and ducked behind Helinoa.

“It went well,” Nuveize said gravely. “Even Kilinze’s stupidity might have been a good thing, in a strange way—because the rest of us look so much safer.” “Yes, you did. And the lock being cleared is a real boon. We need to move carefully—but now you don’t need to hide your real natures.” “Kilinze does,” Neime said firmly. Neime had been rather quiet until now—Wepizi wondered if he and the prince were out of sorts again, but he seemed fine now. “Come on, you lot —time for tea, and perhaps even a biscuit or two, if Cook’s managed them.” Kilinze yelled with excitement and tore off towards the house. Neime rolled his eyes and indicated the others should go in after the boy, but before he followed their guests, he came over to Wepizi. “I’m glad you came,” he said simply. “Always of service, my friend,” Wepizi said bowing. Neime smiled and then walked off. That left only the prince, who was staring at him in a most disconcerting manner. After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, Tovoi coughed. “Wepizi, I’ve got to get back to the barracks. You can head on up to the building site when you’re ready.” Wepizi saluted, Tovoi returning it with an ironic lift of his eyebrow and a significant glance at the prince. Wepizi doubted the prince missed the significance of the gesture in any way. The prince rarely missed anything that could be interpreted as an insult, he suspected. If the man hadn’t still been staring at him, Wepizi would have simply gone back to work. But it was clear the prince had something to say, so Wepizi waited patiently until he could spit it out. “You received my submission?” he said finally. The prince shook himself. “Yes. And Tovoi’s. They went off yesterday, with my own. Jozin wanted to make one too, so that was sent as well.” So it was done. “Was there something else, your highness?” “No. Only to thank you for your assistance today. It was not something you were obliged to give.” “No, that was made very clear. I don’t only do what I’m obliged to.” “No. Nor I.” Juimei stared at his feet. “I...really wasn’t forced into this by Jozin. We can’t let him get that notion into his head.” “No, I know. I’ll reinforce the message if I get the chance.” The prince looked up. “I explained to him this situation was not trivial, and that until it’s resolved one way or another, you can’t be involved in managing him and the others.” “I understand. I’ll explain it, again if I get the chance.” “Yes. Tovoi has you directing the building site.”

Nothing could be read of his feelings on that point from his voice or his expression. Wepizi shrugged. “I have to do something, your highness. Prisoners are put to work, you know that.” “Not usually in a position of authority,” Juimei said rather coldly. “You shouldn’t take it as a sign that your case won’t be dealt with in the normal way.” “I’m not taking it any way at all, your highness. I’m just doing what I’ve been told to do, as any prisoner would. If you object, you need to speak to the tezrei, not me.” “Quite. I shall certainly want to be kept informed of your activities.” Wepizi nearly rolled his eyes—did the man think he would make a break for it? Yet Juimei’s tone, in fact his whole demeanour, didn’t have the nastiness Wepizi expected. He just seemed tired and depressed, and not at all like someone who had handled a tricky situation with the Blessed rather well. He looked somewhat ill, actually, and Wepizi wondered if he was in for another migraine. “Was there anything else, your highness?” “Yes.” The prince looked at him. “You just think I’m being malicious, don’t you? You assume I’m doing this to you out of spite.” Wepizi was taken aback by this direct and personal comment. He wouldn’t have thought Juimei would have cared in the least what Wepizi thought. “I don’t know why you’re doing it, your highness. I’ve stopped trying to work out your motives for anything.” Juimei stiffened as if he’d been struck. “I see. I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. But if you think I want this, you’re wrong. Very wrong.” “Then why?” “Andon is governed by the rule of law,” he said, jabbing the ground with his cane for emphasis. “If I was truly capricious, I would follow my heart and not my head, and forget all this because it’s so far from my wishes, you can’t imagine. But the law is the law, and the governor must apply it.” “I followed the law, your highness.” “No, you did not. Would you have been so ready to disregard my authority, if you liked me better? Think on that, Wepizi, and then decide who’s the capricious one. Good day.” He turned to go. Stung by his words, Wepizi grabbed his arm. “Wait! You think I did that because I dislike you?” “I’ve stopped trying to work out your motives for anything,” the prince said, looking down at his impertinent grip. “Well, that wasn’t my motive. You could have handled it differently, kept it private. You didn’t need to make this an official matter at all.” Juimei narrowed his eyes, and shook off Wepizi’s hand. “You involved Neime and Tovoi. You made it public, and you took the choice to deal with it differently away from me. That is

what I can’t forgive. Blame me how you will, but you’re not without fault. By no means are you without fault. Now, good day.” The prince limped slowly off. Wepizi could only stare after him, perplexed. Had he really forced the man’s hand? Would Juimei have really dealt with things differently, if things had been done differently? Wepizi had thought he’d had no choice that day. Was that really so? Lema, have I been a fool again? Thrown away a career and my reputation for something that could have been avoided? If he had, it was too late. Too late for anything but regrets, that was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 24 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Blessed were the topic of every conversation for a day or so—then the realities of life pressed in again, and people had to get on with the repair of their town and their livelihoods. Quietly, and far more judiciously than Kilinze had managed, the Blessed became part of that restoration. Equally quietly, Wepizi became their de facto liaison and manager, though he wasn’t the only person responsible for keeping the Blessed protected and under control. Jozin was seconded into the army at his own request, given the rank of groi Specialist Class, and quickly accepted Tovoi’s authority. The defined rank structure and discipline was good for him, and the lad responded gratifyingly to firm, kind direction. Just as Nuveize had said, he was only too glad to shed responsibility from too young shoulders, and let other people make decisions for him. He was set to work immediately, and his assistance and that of all the Blessed, made a difference from the start. Suddenly, things moved much faster. Raising the town walls again took two weeks, instead of the expected two months, and while the walls were largely symbolic during times of peace, there was no doubt their presence and solidity gave comfort to the population, and a sense of security to those who’d lost their homes. It wasn’t just the walls that went up more speedily—houses, barracks, and shops all rose from the rubble at a fantastic rate. They could work longer days, thanks to Kilinze’s fireballs illuminating their worksites, and Jozin and Helinoa’s talent taking the strain of the harder, heavier work. When it rained, Iome dried the site off quickly with her clever winds, and Laovei simply scooped out water from holes and ditches and sent it flying off over the farmland. The remaining damage to the lock was repaired in a single day, Laovei holding the river back in a manner which at first terrified the soldiers sent to mend it, but which was then quickly taken for granted as they and Helinoa got rid of the rubble, checked the mechanism, and tested it. Boats began to use it within two days of its reopening. Every one of the Blessed threw their efforts into helping the reconstruction. Nuveize alone saved them so much time by making it unnecessary to send runners back and forth from site to site, or one end of the town to the other. One short flight with her and Helinoa allowed the army to quickly survey a thousand square miles of region, make contact with the remote patrols and tell them what was happening, finding out who needed help and what damage had been done. It saved them months of travel, and many hours of soldiers’ labour. The rapid progress, and the real improvement to living conditions, gave a huge boost to morale, and smiles came back into fashion among civilians and soldiers alike. But it wasn’t just the ordinary citizens who benefited. The Blessed were finding their feet, and their lives were now much richer and more secure than before. Kilinze was taken under Jiren Heininke’s wing—the

man had a son Kilinze’s age, and between the two of them, they managed to exercise a good bit of influence and control over the volatile boy. School definitely looked possible. Helinoa made friends with one of the teachers, and was now at her books in earnest. Juimei had sent orders down that the three youngest Blessed were to be given enough time to rest and study. The prince, same as Wepizi, was concerned about exploitation—so far, that had been averted. Iome was serious about becoming a healer, and now worked every day at the infirmary, and spent the evenings studying. The army medics reported she had a natural gift for the role, and was well liked by patients and staff. Giwade continued to be reticent about normal company, spending a lot of time with the still recovering Laovei, or with Neime. It seemed unlikely he would ever attend school, but he still benefited from the end of the Blessed's isolation. Wepizi had many reasons to be content he’d been part of that, even if he had no idea if he would be around in a year’s time, or ever know if Giwade had successfully attended school or if Kilinze had managed to fit in. He could only hope he would be, and give his new friends the best possible start if he was not. Spring became summer, and the town began to rise again. Two whole blocks of the new barracks were complete, along with decent sanitation and cooking facilities, and all the people housed in store rooms and the like, now had a proper place to sleep. Another block would be complete within a week or so. More than that, the infrastructure of the town had almost been entirely restored. The bridge was repaired much earlier than expected, and Jozin had helped set up a second ferry. Boats now travelled back and forth to Nedriz, and more troops were expected soon from Tsikiugui which would speed the completion of the building tasks. The town owed much to the Blessed, and Wepizi made sure people realised it. He was kept very busy both with his actual job, and with the Blessed, liaising with Neime and Tovoi daily over the matter. But never the prince. His highness was a recluse once more. It distressed Neime a great deal, the lad confessed. “I don’t know what to do,” he said one afternoon, as he shared a cup of drizu with Wepizi around the soldiers’ fire, before heading back to the residence. “It’s almost like when he was first injured. He’s in constant pain, he won’t talk to me, won’t let me help—he can’t go on like this.” “No, he can’t. Pity he has no other friends.” “He nearly did,” Neime said sorrowfully. “I really thought...why did he have to make an issue of it, Wepizi?” “He had his reasons,” Wepizi said. “Good ones, I confess. But it’s too late for any of it now.” Neime gave him an odd look, then changed the subject. Wepizi wondered what that had been about, but Neime was close-mouthed as a statue when he wanted to be. He’d given a lot of thought to that last conversation with Juimei, and had come to the uncomfortable realisation that maybe, just maybe, he’d been a bit of an arse. At the same time, there was nothing he could do about it until the decision came from his majesty. It was too late

for apologies, or even explanations. Soon, the matter would be out of both their hands, and Wepizi could only place his trust in Sephiz he would not be cast adrift.

~~~~~~~~ Juimei limped over to the bell pull and tugged on it with unnecessary force, needing to express his frustration somehow. Some days were better than others, and this was definitely a nerf leaf tea day. He hated the stuff, but he hated losing entire days to migraines and headaches even more, and he was already sick to his stomach and in pain. So much so that Neime had hovered anxiously, saying he should not leave today—Juimei had made him go away and get on with his job. If he couldn’t represent himself in the town, he needed Neime to do that for him. It wasn’t fair if Dizeindo had neither of their services. He went back to his desk and began to open the freshly delivered post. A mountain of the stuff, only to be expected since post riders had been forced to reduce the number of runs over the last three months. It would improve in the spring, and was already better than they’d hoped. At least they were no longer cut off—they were in regular contact with Nedriz and Tsikiugui, and it was only Visiqe with whom they had less frequent exchange than usual. One day, he thought, there would be some kind of communication across the whole country which would not mean months between letters from one side to the other. A network of the Blessed like they had in Darshian, would be the thing. But that would mean more Blessed would have to emerge. It might happen, but perhaps not in his lifetime. Certainly not during the little time remaining of his residence here. As was his habit, he sifted letters into piles according to urgency, and whether he needed to consult with someone before dealing with them. His headache made it hard to concentrate— perhaps he should wait until he’d had the tea, and then see if he could make more sense of it. He disliked the soporific qualities of nerf leaf, but it was the only mild analgesic he could use which didn’t knock him out, and it had the side effect of flattening his mood. The days on which he took it tended to pass in a haze—he suspected those around him were rather grateful for that. He found it hard to care. He’d arranged things so he was almost unnecessary, and if he pitched it right, his replacement would slip in unnoticed. At least, they could if they wanted to. He didn’t know if they would, or who they would be. Sooner or later he would have to talk to Neime about this, but he was dreading that conversation. He’d decided to wait until it was all settled and had his father’s seal of approval—that would cut down the arguing, at least. He was about to set the letters aside, when the last one opened caught his eye. Frowning, he reread it, thinking he’d been mistaken, but he had not. Sifting through the other letters, he found something had gone seriously awry. What on earth? A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He barked at whoever it was to enter.

It was his butler, smiling and helpful-looking as ever. “Your highness?” He forced his face into a pleasant expression, because his staff were good people and didn’t deserve his moods. “Gimoz, thank you. Would you have someone fetch Neime back for me, and get me some nerf leaf tea? Neime’s more urgent.” The man bowed. “Certainly, your highness.” He withdrew. Juimei returned to his correspondence, and went through all his letters this time. No, he really hadn’t made a mistake. How could this have happened? The tea arrived, and he made sure he drank all of it, though it was quite disgusting, more than enough to deter any tendency he might have towards addiction. But it only took the edge off his headache and his temper, so when Neime finally appeared, he was perfectly ready for a fight. “Sit down, Neime.” “What’s wrong, Jui?” Neime asked, as he sat down. “Has something happened?” “Not exactly,” he said coolly. “The post arrived this morning.” “Oh good. Or was there...bad news?” “Not really, though I’m disappointed not to have a reply to my letter to my father concerning Wepizi.” “Has he not replied? That’s odd.” Juimei gave him a sharp look. Neime was just a little too innocent. “Yes, it really is, since I’ve got replies to other letters dispatched at exactly the same time. Some of those replies actually asked what’s happened to Wepizi, and why Tovoi is now tezrei. Most curious, don’t you think?” Neime bit his lip and stared down at the desk. “Neime? I know I gave you that wallet of documents to send. I sealed them myself. Unlikely that they would have become mislaid, when others in the same pouch were not. Do you have an explanation for this?” His page glanced up with wounded, guilty eyes, and Juimei’s heart sank. What have you done, lad? Neime got up and went to a little-used inlaid wooden cabinet, one that was low and awkward and only held archived documents from Count Fiezenai’s time. Juimei had never looked inside it. Now Neime opened it and drew something out, which he brought over and laid in front of Juimei. The report on Wepizi—the entire wallet, still sealed. “Why?” Juimei whispered. “Why betray me so?” Neime sat down and clenched his hands on his knees. “I’ll resign and accept any punishment, your highness.” “Just tell me why. To protect him?” Neime shook his head and looked up, seeming on the verge of tears. “No. To protect you. I was afraid it would make you look like a fool and give that bloody count another chance to attack you. It was too high a price to pay for revenge.”

“It wasn’t revenge. It was nothing to do with revenge. It was to do with my authority, this office, and who rules and who doesn’t. Even if...even if I loved...someone...and they did that, I would do the same. Even if it had been you. You betrayed me.” Neime’s eyes were stricken. “No! I...Juimei I...wanted to stop you making a mistake. And it was a mistake. You know it was.” Juimei wanted to vomit, the taste of betrayal was so strong. His guts knotted into a familiar, agonising ball, and it was all he could do not to walk out, away from this mess. He’d trusted Neime implicitly, and that trust had been shattered. He didn’t care what Neime’s justification was —he had broken faith with Juimei. How could Neime have set himself above the office of the governor in this way? He broke the seal on the wallet, and found all just as he’d left it, months before. He drew out one envelope. “It was this, actually, on which I was most desperate for a reply.” He handed it over to his page, who only held it, still looking as he was waiting for judgement. “Open it,” he snapped. Neime jumped, then broke the seal and pulled the letter out. His eyes grew huge as he read, then he looked up, mouth open in shock. “Oh, Jui...no. No, you can’t.” “I can, and after this, I really mean to. You’ve left me no option.” “What are you going to do about me? Were you just going to walk out and leave me here?” “No. Not at all. But now...I’m disappointed. Hurt, and most disappointed. You’ve proved more than anything else, how imperative it is that I go.” “I never meant to. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.” The lad hung his head. Juimei didn’t know if it was the effect of the tea, or pure weariness and despair, but he couldn’t really work up a good rage about this. He just felt...sad. Hopeless. And simply not knowing what to do, now this last hope had been removed. “You better go now.” “Go? Away?” “No, back to work. I need to think. We’ll speak of this again. We’ll have to.” “I know,” Neime said, voice small and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “I know that. Go on. Say nothing to anyone—your word of honour, Neime.” He bowed. “On my mother’s life. I’m sorry.” Juimei merely nodded, not trusting his voice, and avoided looking at his page until he’d left the room. Only then did he put his head in his hands, his eyes filling a little in self-pity. He’d thought he was so close to liberation, and the kindly meant betrayal by his dearest—only—friend, had now entrapped him firmly in hell. He was out of options. So what in Sephiz’s name could he do now?

~~~~~~~~

“Wepizi, can you come up to the governor’s residence to meet his highness?” Wepizi jerked upright. “Me? Now? Why?” “I can’t tell you. That’s all he asked. I’ve already passed it on to the tezrei—he says it’s all right.” “If he says so. Nuveize...is it bad news?” “I really can’t say. All I can tell you, because I saw it myself, is that the post arrived from Visiqe this morning.” Ah. Then the decision had come from his majesty. It was rather odd that the prince wasn’t insisting that Tovoi accompany him, or even that he come to the residence under guard. Did that mean the decision had gone in Wepizi’s favour after all? He dusted himself off, and went to find Tovoi. “Must be good news,” Tovoi said, grinning. “Maybe. If you see Jozin, don’t say anything. I’ll make an announcement one way or another this evening over supper.” “Right you are. And then this mess can be yours again.” “Don’t be so hasty to surrender command, tezrei. One of these days, you’ll be doing it again, if I have anything to say about it. You’ve made a fine fist of it.” “Thank you—but these aren’t the circumstances I’d want for a promotion.” “No, I know that. See you later.” As Wepizi left the barracks—now looking more and more like a regular army establishment —he did wonder if Tovoi was a bit premature. Juimei didn’t always do things in a predictable manner, and since he’d become even more of a mystery of late, Wepizi was by no means certain the lack of formal escort meant anything other than Juimei disliking disruption in his home. He wished Nuveize’s ethics weren’t so inconvenient, but if they were less rigid, she couldn’t work with anyone at all. He hoped to see her today. It had been over a week since he’d met up with her, and he wanted to find out how she and Giwade were doing. She’d hinted last time that she thought Neime and Laovei were becoming more than just good friends—he wanted to know more about that too. He shook his head and laughed at himself. He might be facing a court martial and he was worrying about Neime’s love life. Sad, Wepizi, very sad. Lema, you were a bad influence on me that way, with your matchmaking. Up at the residence, Gimoz told him to go straight to his highness’s office. The house was now much quieter, since most of the temporary guests were now in proper accommodation, and only a dozen or so of the most elderly and infirm still remained. Not that there was any difference in the politeness or warmth of the greeting he received, or in the sense of quiet organisation.

Whatever these people were paid, he thought as he walked along the elegant corridors, it wasn’t enough. A curt “Come in,” was the answer to his knock. He entered and bowed. “Your highness?” “Sit down, please, Wepizi.” He straightened up, but then had to struggle to conceal his shock. Juimei looked utterly appalling. His cheeks were sunken, his colour sickly, and his eyes were dead stones in his face— the change since the last time Wepizi had seen him was as great as if the man had contracted a fatal illness in that time. Despite himself, he was worried. “Your highness, you don’t look at all well.” “No, I fancy I don’t. Please sit.” His voice was slurred, though it was only just after lunch—was he tired, or was it something else? Wepizi took a seat, but kept a careful eye on the prince, who also sat down. His hands trembled, and the empty look in his eyes really was most alarming. “Your highness, are you sure you want to do this now?” The prince ignored him. “I have a grave problem, Wepizi. As you know, I hoped to have an answer from Visiqe by now concerning the charges against you.” “Oh—nothing was in the post bag this morning then?” But if there was no news, why...? Wepizi shut up. There was something going on, something making the prince very distressed, making his shaking hands clench and unclench on his desk. “I....” Juimei stopped, closing his eyes. “Your highness, please—do you need...?” “Sephiz, my head hurts,” he whispered. He pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes and rocked slightly, as if he was in terrible pain. “Juimei?” The man needed a medic, or someone—Neime at the very least. “Nuveize! Please, where’s Neime?” “Out of harm’s way. He doesn’t need a medic, Wepizi. Just...wait. Please—for mercy. Wait for him.” “I don’t understand.” “Please...he needs you.” Wepizi peered up at the empty air. “Me?” But Nuveize said no more, and the prince was lost in his own world. Wepizi didn’t know what to do. “Juimei...your highness. Please, tell me how I can help.”

The prince took a deep breath, then with an obvious effort, forced his hands down away from his face. “I’m sorry...I just....” He shoved a wallet of documents across his desk at Wepizi. “Just take them and go....” With shaking hands, he picked up a mug of tea sitting near him, and sipped from it. “Please.” Wepizi frowned, confused, then glanced down at the wallet Juimei had shoved at him, realising with shock what it was. “This is the dossier...my submission. Why...you said nothing had come in the post.” He looked up again. Juimei was watching him, eyes wounded, confused— betrayed. “What happened?” “A...clerical error.” “A clerical error called Neime?” “You knew?” “Not at all.” Wepizi looked at the documents. “These never left Dizeindo, did they?” “No. I’m sorry. I never intended this to...to go on so long. It’s most unfair on you.” Wepizi blinked. “Unfair? Your highness, you were trying to have me cashiered from the army!” “I was trying to have his majesty and council establish a legal point concerning the authority of this office, actually.” He looked away. “Read my letter if you don’t believe me.” He was apparently quite serious, but when Wepizi pulled out the top envelope, the prince snapped, “Not that. The one under it.” He picked up his cup and drank more of the tea, closing his eyes in obvious pain. Wepizi laid the first letter aside, drew the second envelope out, snapped the seal, and extracted the letter. It was a very dry, very cool description of the complaint against him, couched in the least dramatic tone possible, and certainly carrying none of the anger or high emotion of that day. There was, to his surprise, a full description of Wepizi’s own justification for his actions, the events that led up to it, and the prince himself made the arguments for and against Wepizi’s decision in a way that would not have shamed even a lawyer acting on his behalf. It was exactly as Juimei had said—a request for arbitration, and for advice on how to proceed, should the king decide Wepizi was in the wrong. He looked up. “I’m sorry.” The prince’s expression of pain didn’t change. “So am I, because it deprives you of justice and me of the answer I needed.” “No—I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry....” He took a breath. “You were right. I acted hastily, incorrectly—probably illegally. I could have waited, allowed you to decide. I believed at the time, that speed was important—” “It was.”

“Not that much. I should have realised Jozin was pushing me, trying to see what I would do. A delay of an hour or so would not have violated his majesty’s orders. I admit my fault, your highness. I admit the charge of dereliction, though I would still say it did not amount to desertion. I never intended to abandon my post.” The prince put his hand out for the wallet—Wepizi gave it back to him. “So where does that leave us, Wepizi? You deserve consideration of this matter by his majesty, since it’s such a grave charge.” “Your highness...no one else is involved now. You can make that private decision you wanted to make that day. If you wish it. What will you do about Neime?” Juimei covered his eyes with his hand, as if the light was suddenly unbearable to him. “Are you aware how serious the offence is?” Interfering with vice-regal communications, dishonesty, gross insubordination...Neime could go to prison for a very long time, and the prince would have every justification in laying such charges. “Yes, I am.” “And if you were me, what would you do?” Wepizi considered. The only reason not to bring those charges was that Neime was the prince’s only friend in this town. If the lad were tried and convicted, as he certainly would be, then the prince would be utterly isolated. “I don’t know. As an officer, it’s very hard to argue you should ignore this. As a friend....” Juimei let out a short, painful laugh. “Amusing, is it not? That I lose one friend over a strict interpretation of the law, and now I’ve lost another, because that friend is trying to protect the first. Again the law wills that I must charge a friend, and cause him and myself a good deal of misery. And for what? My authority is nonexistent whatever I do. I’ve lost my friends whatever I do. I can’t even resign and avoid the decision, because Neime withheld that letter too.” “Resign? You want to resign? Over me?” “Over....” He stopped. “Yes, over you,” he corrected, a little defiantly. “Over the fact that even a good man like yourself won’t respect this office while I hold it. I’m harming this office, this town, this region, and that is something I most strenuously do not wish to do—but now I have no choice.” His mouth tightened. “And it hurts,” he whispered. Wepizi picked up the letter which had come out of the wallet—the one Juimei had told him not to look at—and looked at it anyway. It was indeed a resignation note, asking for him to be replaced forthwith. If it had been received in Visiqe when it was supposed to, Juimei’s replacement would be on their way to Dizeindo right now. He found Juimei watching him as he laid the note down. “You’re not harming this town or this region,” Wepizi said carefully. “In fact, this town and this region are well governed, and the fact we’re recovering so quickly from such a major

disaster, is in no small way because of you. To resign because you think otherwise, would be a mistake.” “Many would disagree.” He leaned forward a little. “I don’t care,” he said firmly. “Many people have no idea what you’ve done, and are doing. What concerns me more is the damage you’re doing to your health and your happiness, and by extension, Neime’s happiness, for I’m sure his only concern is your welfare. Your highness...we swear an oath to exercise the justice of the crown and enforce its laws. But we also swear to temper that justice with mercy. I believe that in showing mercy to Neime, you’ll be merciful to yourself, and more good than harm will come from it.” “How can I show mercy to him when I showed none to you?” he said roughly, his hand clenching again. “Why do you ask it for him and not for yourself?” “I can look after myself. Neime’s all you’ve got. I don’t ask mercy for him—I ask it for you.” The prince swore, and pushed himself out of his chair, apparently unable to sit still in his agitation. He grabbed his cane and stomped over to the window. “I want nothing for myself. I won’t spare Neime for my sake. Either I do it for him, I do it for you, or not at all. But you want no favours from me. Doubtless you’d spit in my face for suggesting it.” Wepizi looked at the letter again, knowing how humiliating it had to be for a son to admit to a father that he had failed, that he could no longer do the job to which he’d been appointed. Knowing that returning to Visiqe under such circumstances would not be something Juimei, so proud and so easily hurt, could ever want. But that pride, that fear of more pain when he carried so much, was a barrier to him finding an answer that was truly honourable. Lema? Is this my second chance? Can I mend this? He folded the letter, reached over and pushed it inside the wallet. Then he picked up the dossier and brought it over to the prince, still staring blindly out of the window. Close to, the strain, the scars of these months, were all too easy to see. The prince was in need of mercy, most certainly, even if he wouldn’t accept it. “Juimei, will you allow me to make a suggestion as to how you can deal with this?” The prince shot him a quick, hard look, his lips pressed tightly together. “If you wish, certainly.” Wepizi handed the wallet to him, pressing his fingers against it. “Take this, seal it, and put it somewhere safe. Allow me to make a new statement, admitting my fault. Have Neime make a sworn statement, then seal them and store them with the rest.” The prince seemed confused by this advice. “You can ask for a promise of good behaviour from both of us. A bond. If we break our word, then this will be the evidence needed to show our bad faith,

and past crimes. But you don’t need to punish to effect justice. Justice can be wise and merciful while still preventing a repetition of the offence. You can deal with this here and now, and not involve any other person.” “How do I explain it to Tovoi without bringing Neime’s name into it?” “You don’t need to. You just say you’ve decided on a different way of handling it. He won’t ask more questions, whatever his private speculation. Your...methods...are known by now.” “You mean, my eccentricities are known?” Wepizi smiled. “Those too, of course. It’s only a suggestion.” “I still want to resign. I’m no good at this job, not in the least.” “I disagree. But in any event, it’s too late to have someone replace you before winter, so you can do no more about it until spring. I have another suggestion.” “You seem to have an abundance to offer today, don’t you?” “If you don’t want—” Juimei made an impatient slash of his hand to tell him to get on with it. “Wait until spring before you decide. This business has been hanging over you, upsetting you, clouding everything. If you can put it behind you, and now the restoration is going so quickly, you might find you can settle into the job again. If not—it’s a mere handful of months.” “I don’t know if I can last that long,” he murmured. “My health’s breaking down. I never had such migraines before. If it weren’t for nerf leaf, I’d probably have left for Tsikiugui by now, to look for a healer who could help me.” Nerf leaf—that explained the tea, and the odd smell Wepizi had been trying to place. “I wasn’t aware it was so bad—massage helps, doesn’t it?” But Neime had said the prince had refused that assistance for some time now. “No,” Juimei said coldly. Wepizi knew he was lying—but he had no idea why. “I’ll follow your suggestions, Wepizi. All of them. I’ll tell Tovoi he’s no longer acting Tezrei, and we’ll arrange the other matters.” He rubbed his eyes distractedly—he looked exhausted. “Are you sleeping?” Wepizi asked gently. “Is it any of your business?” Juimei said, jerking his hand away from his face, and glaring at Wepizi as if mortally offended by the question. “It is if the health of the governor is affected.” “The health of the governor is affected, but it’s still none of your damn business. You won. Isn’t that enough for you?” Wepizi tapped the wallet that the prince held under one arm. “You win too, Juimei. Like I told Jozin months ago—we’re all on the same side.” The prince only grunted and looked away again. “Do you want me to speak to Neime?”

“No...I’d better do that. I have to make it clear to him that he came very close to being sent to prison. If you speak to him, I expect you to reiterate that point.” “Yes, I will.” He bowed. “I should get back. I appreciate your care in this matter. I know this has been very trying.” “More than you can ever possibly know. Good day, tezrei.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 25 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei laid his head on his folded arms, and prayed for oblivion. If the pain would become a proper migraine, he could almost hope that he would pass out, but he wasn’t dizzy—just in agony, and somehow even more depressed, even though Wepizi had offered the elegant and honourable solution he hadn’t had the wit or the courage to find. He would be grateful, he supposed. Just as soon as he stopped wanting to ram his head against the wall to end this shrieking pain. A tap at the door. He ignored it. Another tap. “Your highness, please, may I see you?” “Nuveize, I’m sorry. I’m unwell. Come back later.” No reply, but then the door opened. He lifted his head to shout, but then thought he was wasting his time. He put his head back down. “No one ever does a damn thing I say any more.” Nuveize didn’t answer. He heard her slow footsteps coming closer, the tapping of the stick she used when walking around unattended, but he ignored her. If she was going to be so rude, he didn’t see why he should snap to attention. But then he jumped as cool hands were laid on the back of his neck. “Don’t!” “Hush,” she murmured. “For once in your life, listen to someone else. Relax.” And suddenly the pain was gone—as if it had never been. “How?” he asked, sitting up and touching his temples experimentally. How could it go so thoroughly, so quickly? “A block. The injury, the tension remains, but I stopped your mind being aware of it. It’s not a cure, unfortunately, but I couldn’t bear listening to you suffer anymore. Nor can Giwade.” “Ah. I should have known better than to think you would have been concerned for my sake.” But the pain was indeed gone, so he had to be grateful for that, at least. He sat up, brushing her hands away, and stared at the chair across from him, so she could use his sight to find it. She took the hint, and then gave him a wry look. “Juimei, I don’t hate you, or dislike you. My concern was for you, though it’s also for my young one. It’s not either or.” “Well, I thank you anyway. Was that all you wanted?” “Fortunately, I’m not in search of pleasant or polite company. You can’t go on like this.”

“What choice do I have? My life is as it is. Other people keep ripping my choices from my hands.” “You keep knocking their hands away. Would it be so wrong to allow Neime or Wepizi to touch you? It’s no sin to want physical comfort and affection.” He glared at her, even though she couldn’t see his expression. “It’s wrong to want what is a violation of trust. It’s wrong to...encourage those feelings.” “Perhaps you should talk to Wepizi about them.” He laughed. “Are you serious? The man not only despises me personally, he’s still grieving for his wife. Would you welcome advances from me? Would you not be repelled and disgusted?” She regarded him calmly, her blind gaze, as always, rather unnerving. “No, though I don’t want them. Wepizi’s a good man, a kind one.” “I don’t want his kindness. Have him yourself if he’s such a treasure. You get on so well with him. You’re more his type than I am.” “Possibly, though he has the same problem as you, in that he can’t forget my talent. Stop changing the subject. You’re killing yourself, and even though you don’t like me, I can’t stand by and watch someone throw their life away so pointlessly. If you hate your existence so much, end it cleanly. Stop torturing yourself, Neime, and everyone else.” “I might just do that,” he said coldly. “If this conversation is over, madam, I have work to do, and since you’ve been kind enough to stop the pain for a while, I should take advantage of it.” She shook her head. “Honestly, if you were Kilinze, I’d put you over my damn knee. You want the pain in your head to stop for good? You need to stop hating yourself. The pain is the physical manifestation of your self-loathing. You’re literally punishing yourself for not being the person you want to be. So either accept that you can’t be who you want, change, or get used to permanent agony. But if you choose the last—do it somewhere Giwade can’t feel you, because the child is suffering.” “Then I’ll make arrangements for accommodation for him and for you away from this residence. Will that be sufficient?” “Definitely a spanking,” she muttered. “Grow up. You’re behaving like a child working himself into a tantrum and making himself sick. People would love you and help you, if you stopped.” “This conversation is over, Nuveize. I won’t be lectured.” “No, Sephiz forbid. Don’t you need to speak to Tovoi?” “Thank you, I hadn’t forgotten. You’re incredibly impertinent.” “You’re incredibly annoying. We make a good team.” “Juimei, please—I say all this from concern, not anger. You’ve been very kind to my family, and I’m grateful. None of us want you to leave, or get sick.”

“Not even Giwade?” “He worries about you. He wants you to be happy. So do I.” “Sadly, I’ve lost the knack. I thank you for the concern. I just...don’t have an answer.” She got to her feet, then came around the desk behind him. Once again she laid her hand on his neck. “Physical comfort and happiness are basic needs. If you care at all for Neime, you have to look after yourself. Allow yourself to be touched, your highness. You’ll die without it.” He grunted, and she let him go. “I’m going to go for a walk with Giwade,” she said. “I can pass your messages on. The pain block will last for a while. Longer if you could possibly unclench. I warn you—you’re harming yourself beyond repair.” “Thank you, healer Nuveize.” “You’re welcome, your arseness.” He blinked up at her. “I thought you were so strict about manners.” “Only when they’re appreciated. Good day.” Bloody interfering woman, he thought as she left the room, and didn’t care that she could hear the insult too. ‘Your arseness’? Kilinze would be calling him that, he could just see it. As if his life wasn’t full enough of humiliation.

~~~~~~~~ Wepizi arrived back at the barracks just in time for the mid-afternoon brew up in the courtyard, and found news of his reinstatement had got around. Officers, solders, even a few of their civilians came up to clap him on the shoulder and offer congratulations. A mug of drizu was pressed into his hand, and he was invited to come and hunker down around the fire with Tovoi, grinning like a fool. “Never thought I’d be this happy to lose a job, sir.” “Under the circumstances, I can’t offer you any sympathy, lep,” Wepizi said with an answering grin. “I guess you’re back to site managing.” “Gladly. What changed his mind?” He wasn’t prepared to discuss this. “I’m not at liberty to say. But I’m happy with the solution, and I have no argument with his original course of action.” Tovoi looked a little sceptical, but held his tongue. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s good news.”

“Wepizi!” He twisted, and saw Jozin loping toward him, a huge smile on his face. “That’s ‘tezrei’ to you, groi,” Tovoi chided. The smile didn’t dim at all. “Oh, sorry—but is it true? You got your job back?” “Yes, it is. I don’t suppose it’ll get me any more respect out of you.” Jozin just grinned. “How’s the bridge?” “Crooked. But we’re getting there. Kilinze’s coming up tomorrow so we can melt some metal joints.” “Kilinze can melt metal?” Wepizi felt Tovoi start in surprise next to him. “Sure he can,” Jozin said carelessly. “He just makes the flame really hot and tight.” “Sephiz’s beard,” Tovoi muttered. “Just when I think I’ve seen it all.” “I think our young friends still have a surprise or two up their sleeves,” Wepizi said. “Oh, there’s Nuveize and Giwade!” Jozin said, pointing behind Wepizi. “What are they doing here?” Wepizi had no idea, but he rose and bowed politely to the two newcomers walking slowly towards them. “Welcome, my friends. Nuveize, I was going to call on you this afternoon, but....” She waved her hand. “No, I understand. Joz, Giwade wants to have a look around. Lep, is that all right with you?” “Certainly. Jozin, I wanted to ask you about the infirmary—why don’t you both come with me?” Blessing his subordinate’s tact, Wepizi waited until they were clear, then turned back to Nuveize. “It was me you wanted to see?” “Yes. Have you got time for a walk?” “Of course.” He took her arm, told one of the soldiers near the fire he’d be back later, and suggested that the break was over anyway. He now knew the best way to help her ‘see’ her way, and so kept his eyes straight ahead, resisting the temptation to look about, which she found disorienting. She suggested they head outside the walls, past the new barracks site, and up the road towards the camp. “You didn’t have to come all this way to talk to me,” he said as they passed the new sentry posts on the rebuilt gates. His soldiers grinned as they saluted—word had got around incredibly fast. “No, I know, but people still like to see expressions. Besides, my talent upsets you, I know.” “I find it unnerving, certainly. Which isn’t your fault at all. In Darshian, it’s easier for your kind, because there are more of you.” “It’s never really easier for our kind. But it’s easier for your kind.”

He nodded, acknowledging the distinction. They continued to walk along the road, now constantly in use with carts and people travelling between the civilian camp, the new barracks and the town limits. They had been fortunate that so much of the material they needed for the reconstruction had been already assembled before the earthquake hit. The rest had been a gift from their new friends—Kilinze had gone with Jozin and Helinoa to collect timber and in a single day, they had brought back enough felled trees to build a dozen houses and much of the city. The soldiers still talked about that great lumber gathering exercise in tones of awe and Kilinze had been insufferable for some time afterwards. Well, even more insufferable. Wepizi considered it his duty to bring him down to a manageable arrogance wherever possible, but it was an uphill task. They decided to walk down to the creek, where people from the camp washed and did their laundry near to where the creek spilled into the river. Being a hot, dry day, and children being children, it wasn’t just chores being carried out—the creek was full of laughing youngsters, their mothers watching from the banks as they pounded clothes, or scrubbed pots. It did Wepizi good to see the children so carefree—anything, he thought, to wipe away the tears of grief and misery that had fallen so freely. He guided Nuveize to sit on a patch of grass, a little way off from the crowds and the splashes. “I like this,” she said. “I like the heat, the river. The mountains could be so cold and harsh to me. I was raised on the plains.” “Are your family still alive?” “Yes. I listen to them from time to time. My father misses me. It’s best that I left, though.” Wepizi reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Can you never go back?” She turned her blind eyes to him. “Maybe. That’s what this might be the start of. I hope so. Some of us are better in isolation. Some of us are not, like my young ones. Except Giwade. He loves people but he finds the town hard to deal with.” Wepizi looked at her quizzically. “He finds Juimei hard to deal with.” “Ah. Can I deduce this is the actual reason you wanted to talk to me, my dear?” “I have no secrets from you, do I?” she said with an ironic smile. “Yes, it is. You saw the state his highness had got himself into.” “Yes, I did, and you know I was shocked. Utterly horrified, to be blunt. I don’t know how he carries on.” “He’s only hanging on by the tips of his fingers. It’s appalling for Giwade, but Juimei’s answer to that is to suggest he finds somewhere else for us to live.” “Ah.” Wepizi realised now this was typical of Juimei’s way of handling things. “It’s an answer, of sorts. But it doesn’t help the prince, does it?” She shook her head. “I feel for his pain, his situation, I honestly do. I don’t know what I can do about it though. You know what he’s like —he’s more defensive than a hiqwiq in rut. You try and get close and he pushes you off a cliff.”

“Yes, he does. He even does it to Neime. I can’t really blame him though. You only have to look at him to realise he’s at his limit. Past his limit. He has no reserves at all now. I’m not even sure it’s not too late to help him. I’m afraid of what it’ll mean if we do lose him, because we’ll lose Neime too. I had to gather all my courage in my hands to approach you, to trust the normals again. I don’t know if I can face having to work with someone I don’t know.” He patted her hand reassuringly, though his heart clenched at her words. She knew Juimei much better than him. If she said things were this bad, then they were—she didn’t exaggerate at all. It was very hard to be calm about the possibility that Juimei might be lost to them—he had only begun to appreciate the quality of the man, though it didn’t help that the prince had as many facets as an Udizoje gem, and seemed adept at presenting the worst possible aspect of himself to the world. “What can we do?” he murmured. “He doesn’t want my help. He seems to actively hate my assistance.” Nuveize pursed her lips. “The thing is...I know a way...but I can’t tell you.” “Because you read it in his mind?” She laughed. “Hardly. He hasn’t the slightest idea of what would help himself.” He cocked his head. “Then why can’t you tell me?” “Because I’ve worked it out from what he does have in his mind.” “Ah. Impasse,” he said, as he stroked his moustache thoughtfully. “Can you hint?” “Maybe,” she said, looking a little shifty. “You have all the clues, you’re just not looking at them right. But I can’t tell you why you’re not.” Wepizi sighed. “If you can’t do that, can you at least suggest...in a general way...how I can help the man? If he won’t even let Neime come near him....” “That’s another clue, if you would only see it.” But she refused to elaborate. “All I can say is...what works with Jozin, works with most people. Juimei’s damaged, but he’s not abnormal. He leads a sterile, narrow life with no distractions and no pleasure. He learned to walk and talk again after his accident, but he paid no attention to his emotional life, because he assumed that part of him was over forever. I’ve learned all this from observation and talking to Neime and you, please note. And if I can see it, so can you.” “Well, yes, I can. But, surely there are more appropriate people to ask. The prince finds me irritating.” “Does he?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “I heard your conversation with him today. The clues were there too, if you only looked for them. But I suggest you hurry. We don’t have much time if we want to save him.” She was probably right. “He would be a true loss,” Wepizi murmured.

“Yes. He’s a snotty bastard, but he’s honest as they come, and his word is his bond. If you knew human beings as I did, you’d know how rare that is, even among well-intentioned people.” She ‘looked’ right at him. “His honour is his strength and his flaw. Just as your capacity for love is yours, and Neime’s kind heart is his. Your mutual strengths are becoming his fatal weakness.” Wepizi straightened. “Wait—are you saying not only can I help him through this, I’m somehow the cause?” She didn’t blink, wouldn’t give anything away. But that in itself was an answer. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Is it because of this disagreement...? No,” he corrected slowly, remembering. “It started before.” She nodded. “The clues are there,” she repeated. “We have to do something. I blocked the pain he was in today because he upset Giwade. But it’s not an answer. Neither is that disgusting tea he’s drinking.” “No, it’s not.” The use of nerf leaf had shocked Wepizi considerably. That Juimei had had to resort to narcotics indicated more than anything else just how bad his condition was, but it didn’t help his physical condition at all. “Let me think on it. He’s wary and he’s hurt. It makes for a dangerous beast.” “True. But you tamed that one under your nose, you can tame one broken little princeling.” He chuckled. His moustache was so much abused. “Ah...did you call Jozin?” he asked. He’d spotted the lad and Giwade floating towards them, landing discreetly behind a tree some distance away. Strange how one could get used to the sight of people flying through the air. It had been a very strange few months, for sure. “Yes, I did. Giwade needs to get away from Juimei, at least for a while. Is there anywhere he could stay at the barracks?” “I’ll speak to Heininke. Laovei is doing well, I hear.” “Yes, walking a little with the false foot and crutches,” she said, nodding. “Neime’s been a great help.” “And...more?” She smiled. “Perhaps. He’s been wonderful with her. But she was very close to Timinke. She needs time to heal. I’ve spoken to him about it—he understands.” “Well, they’re young, they have time.” But only if Neime’s best friend didn’t kill himself one way or another. He waved at Jozin and Giwade, now walking across the meadow towards them. “Are you going back to the residence?” he asked her. “Yes. Neime’s on his way there too. He’s breaking his heart over what Juimei’s going to say. He meant no harm, you know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Wepizi doubted Neime had ever meant harm to another creature in his entire life. Well, except possibly this count that had caused the prince so much pain. “But at the same time, he did something very seriously wrong, and it can’t just be dismissed. I’m torn between being grateful for it allowing Juimei to make a fresh decision, and sorrow that he’s given our prince another reason to fear betrayal.” She nodded. “Yes. It’s why I won’t breach his confidence, however great the temptation. But I wish I could. Don’t fail me, Wepizi.” She sat up as she ‘saw’ her friends approach through Wepizi’s eyes. “Hello, Joz. Come and sit, darling,” she said to Giwade. “Would you like a swim? The water will be warmer than up in the mountains.” Giwade looked at the splashing children with longing in his eyes, but shook his head. “Maybe another time.” He and Jozin sat, Jozin sprawling on the grass with the loose-limbed ease of the worthily fatigued. He looked content and at peace, so very different from the angry, tense young man who had burst upon them just a few short months before. The change in the lad was truly remarkable. Wepizi thought about what Nuveize had said—about what worked with Jozin, working with Juimei too. He really did need to think about it. But for now, he concentrated on Giwade. “Nuveize says you’re finding it hard, up at the residence.” Giwade ducked his head guiltily. “It’s all right, son. None of it’s your fault.” “I can’t help it. I can’t ignore him, and it feels....” He rubbed his chest. “He hurts, Wepizi. And then Neime hurts. I don’t understand why he can’t be happy.” “Perhaps he needs a little help. Don’t worry about it, Giw. How would you like to stay in the barracks for a few days? Think you could manage being around all those people and soldiers?” He smiled shyly, ducking his head again. “Yes, I think so. For a few days, anyway.” “Then I’ll arrange it. Jozin—maybe even tonight? Could you fetch back his things?” “Sure.” Wepizi poked him. “Sure, sir.” “Yes, sir. I have to call you that out here?” “Oh yes. Even in the latrine, my friend,” Wepizi said solemnly, which made Nuveize smile. “Maybe you should get Nuveize home, and return with Giwade’s clothes. Giwade, you stick with me and I’ll find you a corner you can hide in.” “With a bed?” “Well...a bedroll. But a comfortable one, I promise.” The boy nodded. “All right. I hope you can help Juimei. It’s not good for him.” “No, it’s not.” Giwade was an unusual child and not just because of his Blessing. In many ways, he was far more mature than Jozin, seven years older. He wondered what Juimei’s fractured soul felt like to

the boy, and then was very glad he would never actually know. If it caused anything like the pain it gave the prince himself, it wasn’t something he wanted to experience first hand. Jozin helped Nuveize to her feet. “Back soon,” he said. “Be good for Wepizi, Giw,” Nuveize said. Giwade waved to them as they rose silently into the air. A few of the other people on the bank pointed and ahh’ed, but there was surprisingly little reaction. The Blessed were now everyday miracles for the people of this town. Giwade sat quietly next to him for a while, watching the other children splash and leap about in the creek. Wepizi had things he ought to be doing, but after such a tumultuous day, with so many things to think about, it was good to just sit. “Are you happy, Giwade?” he murmured. “Do you wish you were back in the mountains?” “No. I like it here. Joz and Iome and Hel are so happy, and I like feeling that. I like you,” he said, glancing up as if he was afraid of causing offence. “You feel nice to be near. Peaceful.” “Thank you, son—that’s kind of you to say.” He climbed to his feet. “Come on, let’s see if I can find you that bedroll. You can be a soldier for a few days, see how you like it. But you have to call me ‘sir’.” “Yes, even in the latrine. I remember.” Wepizi laughed and ruffled the lad’s dark hair. “That’s it. Come on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 26 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Are you sure you can manage on your own? One day up here won’t....” Juimei held up his hand. “No. One day will. We have to try and be reliable, Neime.” His page winced a little, though it hadn’t been any kind of oblique reference to his behaviour. The lad was walking on eggshells right now, though Juimei tried not to press the issue at all. It was still to be concluded—he would have arranged the swearing of the statement yesterday, but he’d been felled by yet another sick headache and had had to spend the day in bed, the windows darkened. Still feeling fragile, he didn’t want to raise the topic just now, and certainly didn’t want Neime attending him with his mournful eyes and apologies at the ready. He forgave the lad, but there was more to it than that. Their friendship needed mending. He didn’t feel strong enough to begin that process yet. “You’ll ask Nuveize to fetch me if you need me, right?” “Yes, yes. Neime, go do your job. I’ll be here when you get back.” Every word, everything they said, felt laden with double meanings. His intention to resign was a huge thing lying between them, potent and menacing, but as yet, not overtly mentioned, and certainly not discussed. Not today, he thought wearily. He couldn’t face any more upset today. Finally he persuaded Neime to leave, called for a pot of ordinary tea, and settled down to read the less contentious parts of his correspondence. Siliki’s wife was expecting again, Lekwinu reported. His older sister-in-law was one of his closer friends, and kept him up to date with the gossip that wouldn’t pain him. She never sullied her letters with mention of Miki and his hateful bride, or their latest machinations. He got that information from his brothers, or his mother. His father, being king, had to be above all that, but his father wasn’t one for gossip anyway. Not that Juimei was either, but he could hardly be picky about what people wrote to him, not when there were so few who could be bothered keeping up the acquaintance at all. It wasn’t that he was disliked, so much as he wasn’t there. His old ito teammates, the courtiers, all of them were busy people and had lives to get on with. Doubtless they wondered from time to time how he got on. He really was rather glad they would be unlikely to find out. He hadn’t the patience for official reports and letters today. Instead he found a paper Furneim had sent on some possible new grain crops surprisingly soothing—translated from the Darshianese, apparently. Perhaps when he gave up this job, he would spend some time polishing his reading skills in that language. The Darshianese had some remarkable thinkers in their country.

Immersed in technical data, he had no sense of passing time, and when a knock came at the door, he couldn’t have said if he’d been reading for ten minutes or an hour. “Come in?” The door opened. Wepizi, smiling widely, looking clean and brushed, his moustache in terrifyingly perfect state. “Good morning, your highness. I hope you’re feeling better.” “Yes, thank you. I don’t recall asking you to attend. Did I?” Lately he often lost track of things. “Not exactly, Juimei, though this was something we’d agreed I should supply.” He drew an envelope out of his shirt pocket and laid it in front of him. “My admission of dereliction, all signed and witnessed by lep Tovoi and one of the jirens. I hope it’s enough.” Juimei pushed it aside—he couldn’t bear to read it just now. “I’m sure it will be perfectly correct. There was no hurry, you know. Neime...hasn’t attended to his.” “No, I know. I wanted to come up anyway, so it was convenient.” Juimei smiled politely, though he was now confused. “So what did you want?” Wepizi stroked his moustache and grinned. “Ah, well...how would you like to get out of this stuffy office for a day, and come for a ride along the river?” “I beg your pardon?” He blinked up at the man, who only smiled more broadly. “I’ve declared a holiday for my people—everyone’s been working non-stop for months, and they need a rest. We’re well ahead, the weather is fine, it’s nearly high summer, and I thought you might like to see the work Jozin’s been doing on the bridge.” “I don’t....” “Have time? Surely one day won’t hurt.” “I lost a whole day yesterday.” Wepizi’s smile dimmed a little. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. But it makes it even more important that you get some fresh air and a little gentle exercise. I’ve got a docile doig for you to ride, though we could take the trap if you prefer.” “Wepizi...I can’t just....” “Why not?” “Because...I don’t do that kind of thing.” “Yes. Which is a shame, really. Your cook’s prepared a picnic for us, and the doigs are saddled and ready to go. And it’s a beautiful day,” he said, wheedling a little. Juimei was simply too surprised to muster any annoyance. “What if I fall off the doig?” “You won’t. And if you get tired, Jozin can come fetch you. You’ll be safe. I’ll look after you. Please?”

Juimei sighed helplessly. It sounded ridiculous—but at the same time...he hadn’t left the residence in months. If he tried it and it was a disaster, at least he’d have proved it was a pointless exercise. “All right. If I fall off, you’re bloody well carrying me back.” Wepizi bowed deeply, still grinning. “Of course.” He’d wondered how many people were involved in this conspiracy. He got an inkling as he came out of his office and found Gimoz, the cook and his housekeeper all lined up with hopeful expressions. “Don’t you people have anything better to do?” he growled. “No, your highness. Your comfort and well-being is the most important thing,” Gimoz said, smiling at Wepizi with approval. “Nonsense,” Juimei said huffily, secretly warmed by this loyalty. “You should be looking after our guests.” “All attended to, your highness. Now, your highness, tezrei, Cook’s prepared a hamper for your saddlebags, and there’s a rug and a folding stool if you want it. Tezrei, do you think you’ll need anything else?” “Good grief, Gimoz,” Juimei said. “It’s a short excursion on doigs. We’re not camping out. We’re not camping out,” he added firmly to Wepizi. “Of course not,” the man agreed with a serene smile. “We’ll just have lunch by the river and inspect the bridge. You’ll be back before supper.” “I do have work to do, you know.” Wepizi bowed again. “Proper rest and recreation makes a person more productive, your highness. We teach all our soldiers that.” Juimei harrumphed. He was being bullied quite shamelessly. Simply should not be allowed. He would complain about it...later. For form’s sake, he made one more attempt to stop this nonsense as they walked out into the stable yard. “Are you sure you can let your people have a whole day off? There’s so much to be done.” “Yes, quite sure. Actually, our new arrivals from Tsikiugui are still working, but the ones who were here at the time of the quake badly need a rest. I’ll call another rest day in a week or so. People get stale. They need time to attend to their private affairs and relax. No one could accuse them of slackness.” “I never meant to. Very well. If it’s a failure, we’ll know who to blame.” Juimei did wonder why Wepizi was singling him out for this attention. Misplaced guilt, perhaps. An apology for his behaviour months before? Who knew? As for why he himself was playing along with this, he had no idea. Most of it was an unwillingness to have another argument with someone, and not to revive hostilities with this man when he’d only just managed to

expunge the last cause of dissent. He wasn’t up to examining his motives more closely than that. He felt rather detached over everything right now—an after-effect of his illness, he suspected. It kept him from being more irritated than he might be at his routine being turned upside down. They came out from the shadow of the house, and he blinked at the bright sunshine. He hadn’t appreciated that the summer had really started, and part of him chided himself for wasting the good weather. Any Andonese knew not to take a nice warm day for granted. It was almost certainly time he got out and enjoyed a little of the season. The brief spurt of enthusiasm died and his heart quailed a little as the doigs were led around to them. He hadn’t ridden in months, then only for the briefest time, and he wasn’t at his physical best by any means. Still, he concealed his concern and tried to mount on his own. He didn’t succeed. “Oh,” he murmured, stepping back down with a jolt. He had to hang on to the pommel while his vision cleared. Instantly, Wepizi’s hand was under his arm, steadying him. “Your highness?” “Just a little dizzy. It’s been a while.” “Take it slowly. Allow me.” Wepizi’s strong hands boosted him up, and kept hold of him until he was safely in the saddle. Once seated, he was fine—and he appreciated the man hadn’t suggested they not do this, or made more of a fuss. “Are you comfortable?” “Yes. Mount up, then.” Wepizi’s animal had the saddlebags and blanket, but they were travelling light—and, it seemed, on their own. It seemed odd not to have Neime at his side, and he felt a little clench of sorrow at the idea that he might have to get used to that. No. Don’t think about that, he told himself. Just think about not falling off, and enjoying this mad scheme for now. For Wepizi was right—it was a beautiful day. Warm, dry, the scent of flowers and hay in the air, and, as they rode up the street towards the north gate, the smell of cooking, bread making, the sounds of workshops busy and productive. In the distance, one of the mill wheels groaned. Dizeindo was coming back to life. The quake had not killed it. Wounded it badly, yes. But it was coming back. Even though they were spending a day at liberty, Juimei still took the chance to see how the town had changed since he’d last emerged from his bolthole. This end of town had been the least affected, since it had some of the older and grander buildings, but even here he could see repairs had been done, and at least one house was entirely new. “Do you really think we’ll have homes for everyone before winter?” A decision about sending people south would have to be made soon. He’d been delaying, hoping the intervention of the Blessed and the new troops might tip the balance. Wepizi stroked his moustache thoughtfully. “I think we just might, if we send half the detachment back to Nedriz. Some of the soldiers might have to sleep in tents, but that’s no great

surprise. It’s not as hard on them as proper camping, and I can rotate people so no one suffers too much.” “If the winter’s particularly harsh, I’ll have no compunction about turning the mayor’s cloth out of doors again. I had a very snotty note from him a day or so ago. I’m not in a generous mood.” Wepizi laughed. “Strange how he incites that kind of thing. I think we can manage and spare his honour’s goods. It’s not just him who’d suffer.” Wepizi was saluted by the gatekeepers, who then snapped to attention when they realised who his companion was. Juimei returned their bows with a nod. “Surprised they recognise me,” he murmured. “I’ve never been through these gates.” “Never? Now that’s a shame, because there’s some very pretty country northwards. Some good fishing too, so I’m told. Do you like to fish?” “Never really tried. It’s not easy to do in Visiqe. I liked to hunt—” His mouth snapped shut. He didn’t want to talk about things he couldn’t do any more. Wepizi kindly ignored his lapse. “Fishing’s a fine thing to do. Requires no real fitness, and encourages a peaceful attitude. Maybe we should get the mayor to try it.” “Huh. The man would hire someone to net out the river and sell the catch to the highest bidder. I swear that man loves money more than he loves his children.” “Sadly, I suspect it’s true,” Wepizi said with a little chuckle. “Ah well, then the art of fishing is probably wasted on him. You should try it though. Before the weather turns cold.” Juimei shrugged. He couldn’t see it happening. Wepizi was being polite—not that polite company didn’t have its charms, especially after so long a period of tension. He couldn’t have imagined doing this even a week ago, and for that alone, he was grateful for Wepizi’s honourable solution. His doig was a placid beast, and they hardly put either animal through its paces, ambling along the river road towards the bridge five miles north of them. This part of the river had no traffic since it wasn’t really navigable above Dizeindo because of the shifting water levels. The town elders wanted a system of locks built in this reach as there were below the town, and there was a strong argument for it, with the farms and the mines who could send their goods direct to Nedriz if the river was usable. It would cut days off the journey, and enable far greater loads to be moved at one time—if the region was to expand as his father and brother hoped, then the river traffic would become even more important. He’d thought it impossible before, but now, with the help of the Blessed, the project could happen as early as the spring. The architect and the army engineers were most excited about the possibilities. “We need to be careful,” he muttered. “Juimei?”

“I was just thinking...we need not to get too dependent on our new friends’ talents. Not start something we can’t finish ourselves. Just in case.” “Quite true,” Wepizi agreed. “It’s a temptation to let them do it all, but not only is it a lazy way to do things, it also means we can lose skills.” “So long as you’re aware of the danger, I can trust you to manage it. Uh...thank you for arranging matters for Giwade. I felt very bad for his situation. I just...didn’t feel up to changing things.” “I understand,” Wepizi said, flashing him a look of sympathy. “He felt bad about it being necessary. He hopes, as do I, that it’s only a temporary measure, because he likes living at the residence.” “He can live where he likes. The boy’s quiet and polite—he’d find a welcome in many homes.” “Yes, but he likes the residence. His friends are there, and you’re there. He likes you.” “Me?” Juimei looked at his companion in utter surprise. “I upset him.” “Well, yes. But he told me about the books you gave him, and the lessons on Andonese history. He enjoyed those a lot.” “Oh.” Juimei had only offered those more or less out of desperation, not really knowing what else to do to entertain the child. “He’s welcome to return, of course. I’ll have to find a permanent solution to their accommodation. I was thinking of a house for them all.” “Yes, that might be the thing. But there’s no rush. They’ll be here for a long time and they’ve endured much worse conditions. All that matters is that they’re safe.” “I’d very much like to see that mountain home of theirs,” Juimei said, looking towards that mighty range in the distance. “Amazing it was here all this time and no one knew about it. Nuveize’s powers terrify me more than Kilinze’s fireballs.” “Potentially, yes. They could be very destructive. But because they’re good people, and are being treated with kindness, they’re responding to that. We have no need to fear unless we threaten them.” “It’s what happens if we do, that worries me.” Wepizi smiled. “Let’s not dwell on dark subjects on such a lovely day. How are you finding the riding?” “Fine, fine.” It was astonishingly comfortable and easy, in fact, being back in the saddle. He had missed it very much. “Part of me thinks this would make a fine place to race. Funny how the desires last well past the ability to fulfil them.” “I know what you mean. I’m thirty-eight. If I were to start doig-racing again at my age, I’d probably break every bone in my body. But you’re right—this would make a wonderful place to do that.”

He was thirty-eight? He didn’t look it. At nine years his junior, Juimei felt twenty years older. Probably looked it too, he thought sourly. Wepizi thrived under pressure. Living and working outdoors had tanned his skin, and the hard labour that all the soldiers carried out, had left him fit and lean as ever. Juimei felt as strong and capable as a bag of wet flour beside him. But it was a pity to think about such things when he was otherwise much happier today. The fresh air was doing him good, he could feel it. The sun on his face and his arms filled him with energy. And his head didn’t hurt at all. At this gentle pace, and frequent stops to talk, to look at the scenery, or to watch fish jumping in the river, it took them nearly two hours to reach the bridge which spanned bluffs at the narrowest point of the river. The damage was all too obvious—the shaking had whipped the structure from side to side, cracking support beams, twisting metal braces, and sending no small amount of stone cladding and pillars into the river. Juimei reined in his doig, and leaned forward on the pommel as he examined the destruction. “I thought you said Jozin and the engineers had been working on it.” “They have—it was much worse before,” Wepizi said simply. Juimei raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I haven’t been involved in what they’ve been doing, but I saw it once not long after the quake, and it looked a complete ruin then. It might be easier to see on the other side.” They rode upstream, the ground sloping upwards towards the bridge so they were high above the river. On the north face of the bridge, the new work was clearly visible, and piles of new-cut stone lay on the bank, waiting to be used. Wepizi described the process as he understood it, and what he thought they would be doing next. “If you want a more technical report, I’ll have to get Huimwe to give you that. She tells me that normally a repair of this kind would take a year or more.” “Astonishing,” Juimei murmured, staring up at the structure. He wished he could see Jozin working on it. It really would be something to tell his nephews and nieces about when he got back to Visiqe. “Shall we have lunch? There’s a good place for a camp just along here.” Juimei agreed. They soon came upon at a place which had seen several campfires recently, in a small clump of trees crowding the edge of a stream that flowed into the river. Even to Juimei’s untrained eye, he could see why the soldiers had chosen this particular spot. There was water, shade from rain and sun, and room to pitch a tent if they needed to. For now, all they needed was a place to tie their doigs to graze, somewhere to lay the blanket, and Wepizi to assemble some of the firewood which his soldiers had cut and left stored for the use of their colleagues. Juimei’s contribution was to lay out the food. “My goodness. Cook did realise that there would only be two of us, didn’t she?” he asked as he surveyed the bounty.

“Yes, I made that clear,” Wepizi said as he hunkered down and began the arcane business of setting sparks onto his tinder. “I think she thought you needed feeding up. Besides, the fresh air always gives a body an appetite, don’t you think?” “Perhaps.” In truth, nothing gave him much of an appetite. But as he set out the cold pie, the fresh crusty bread, the pats of butter stored in a wax-sealed jar of water to keep them cool, and the little fruit tarts, to his surprise, his mouth began to water. Certainly, Cook was a genius—even through the worst of the crisis, her meals had never been less than delicious. But this was plain fare by her standards, hearty, simple stuff for the road—nothing to explain his sudden hunger. Wepizi might be right—the fresh air might indeed be doing his appetite good. The billycan of water was set to boil, and then Wepizi sprawled on the blanket in an easy way that seemed quite at odds with his normal aristocratic manners. Juimei couldn’t imitate him, but he stretched out, and nudged the pie tin over to his companion. Wepizi took a slice, offered it back. “I’m looking forward to this,” Wepizi said contentedly. “I haven’t had pie since I left Tsikiugui.” “Oh. They don’t make it in the barracks?” “Unfortunately, it’s not a practical dish. But this looks a fine specimen.” He took a bite and sighed in elaborate appreciation. “Your cook is a treasure.” “Indeed. Her pies are a staff favourite, I believe.” Biting into the firm, moist flesh through the crisp, flavoursome pastry, it was easy to see why. For once, Juimei was quite greedy about his portion. It was as if he’d never really eaten pie before, never one this delicious, so full of flavour and sensation. He almost mourned when he finished the piece, licking his fingers and looking avariciously at the rest of it in the pan, wondering if he could justify a second piece. “My word, she’s outdone herself.” “Have another bit,” Wepizi said casually. “Less to carry back.” Without asking, he cut off another piece, and handed to Juimei, then served himself as well. The second slice was as delicious as the first, but he refused another. “No, I shouldn’t. But if you love the pies so much, I’ll have some sent down to the barracks.” “And spoil us for army food? Hmmm, now that’s a torment. Heaven in the mouth every so often, and enduring stew the rest of it, knowing that pies lurk just out of reach up at your house.” “Ah, but if the pies will appear eventually, then you’ll have hope and be inspired. The chance of pies might even keep you going from week to week.” Wepizi grinned. “Worth a try. For pies this good, I could do a great many things, I think.” He licked his long fingers delicately, then wiped them on one of the thoughtfully provided napkins. “Bread?”

They ate slowly, and far more than Juimei had consumed at a sitting in years. As they ate, they chatted about nothing terribly urgent. Of course they discussed the reconstruction—hard not to, when it was the most important thing in the entire region—but they did so in a relaxed way, allowing themselves the luxury of imagining wild schemes and exploring slightly crazy ideas. None of it was crucial or actual work, and none of it put any stress on him. Juimei felt the most loose-limbed and easy he’d been in a very long time. The sun really was so good on his tired body, his constantly aching neck and stiff shoulders. Though they weren’t stiff and sore right now. He felt better than he did after using the steam room. He felt, in fact, rather drowsy, and after one of his sentences ended in a jaw-cracking yawn, he was forced to apologise. “Oh dear. Sorry.” Wepizi dismissed it easily. “If you’re tired, have a nap. We’ve got all day and nothing much to do with it.” “I have work—” “There’s always work. But you look tired, the sun’s warm, and it’s comfortable. Here,” he said, dragging one of the empty saddlebags over to him. “A pillow, a blanket, a willing guard, and hours of time. What more do you need?” “Not much fun for you,” Juimei protested, “and you can’t ride off if I’m asleep.” Wepizi smiled, and lifted his mug. “I have drizu, a fire, and more than enough need of a bit of peace and quiet myself. I don’t get much of it these days.” “You’re serious? You just want me to lie down and sleep? Here?” Wepizi nodded, watching him. “Absurd.” “As you like.” The man sipped his drizu, his manner still pleasant, as if he really didn’t care what Juimei did. He couldn’t...but why ever not? It wasn’t like anyone else could see him, so the dignity of his office wasn’t harmed, and Sephiz knew Wepizi had seen him at a much greater disadvantage. Trying to be casual, he slipped down, a little awkwardly since it wasn’t the easiest way for him to lie down, and rested his elbow on the saddlebag. “Why did you really do this today, Wepizi?” “I wanted to see the bridge. I thought you would too.” “And...?” Wepizi shrugged. “I wanted to make my peace with you, and give you a day away from your cares. Nothing more devious than that. Surely you know I’m not afraid of you, or your position, and I don’t need your favour. There’s nothing you have that I need, other than simple friendship. I was the one to damage it, so I wanted to be the one to fix it.” “It wasn’t....” Juimei bit his lip. “The fault is not all yours,” he said quietly.

“Perhaps not, but the greater part is. It’s over. I wanted there to be harmony between us, and for you not to feel you’d lost a friend, the way you said you thought you had.” “You did hate me, admit it.” Wepizi shook his head. “I hate very few people, perhaps no more than two. Neither of them reside in this region. I disliked you and your actions, certainly. But Sephiz thankfully has brought me to understand that I was as blind as Nuveize, and given me a second chance. That’s all it is, I swear.” Juimei searched his face for any trace of hidden motive, but Wepizi was, as ever, an open and honest creature. If he had any guile about him, he was truly cunning in hiding it, but Juimei doubted anyone—even his unfaithful former lover—was that clever in hiding their real nature. “Then I accept it in that spirit. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Wepizi stretched out, his long legs hanging off the blanket. “Ah, but it’s lovely here. The dust from the building site gets a bit tiresome. I’ll be glad when we’re done. I’ve been told many times the hunting’s good here and I’d like to try my luck with a bow again. I’m out of practice.” “I used to be a fair shot,” Juimei said, allowing himself to slide down a little more, and lay his head on the saddlebag. Much to his surprise, he found he could speak of this without it hurting. “Right or left handed?” “Left. I could pull the bow with my string with my right hand, but my left arm’s not strong enough to hold it steady.” “Hmmm. You’re not alone in that, you know. Lots of soldiers have a weaker arm, or get injured, have to use their non-dominant side. You can use a support with a crossbow, even lay it across a branch. The long bow, I grant you, is a problem, but then I never shoot with one of those anyway.” “Really? By Sephiz, I’d love to try that again. Archery was one of my passions.” “Then when we finish all this rebuilding, we should get you back on form. In the spring perhaps.” “Perhaps.” Wepizi had forgotten, it seemed. Or not. “Don’t think about it,” Wepizi gently urged. “Enjoy today, don’t think about the future. You have the memory of too few happy days. Allow yourself to build the store up a little.” “I’m afraid I’m out of practice.” “You have to start somewhere.” Which was true. Wepizi occupied himself with pouring more drizu into his mug, and seemed to forget about Juimei altogether. An obvious ploy, but an effective one. All it took was the sun’s

warmth, the restful position, the quiet solitude and companionship, and the drowsiness returned soon enough. He thought to only close his eyes a little, just for a while...and then.... And then....

~~~~~~~~ Wepizi almost chuckled at the speed at which Juimei fell asleep. The man was exhausted— not just from being ill the previous day, but from months and months of stress and pain—and his need for rest had finally overcome his well-developed sense of dignity. Wepizi was still a little surprised that his sense of dignity hadn’t got in the way of accepting the invitation, but he was very glad it hadn’t. It had been a good day, a healing day—for both of them. He hadn’t realised until this very day, what a burden on his soul being estranged from Juimei had been—hadn’t realised how, even in such a short time, his friendship had come to be so important to him. Strange, when Wepizi normally preferred the company of more genial people, and no one would call Juimei genial (except young children, to whom he showed only great patience and kindness.) But it was as Nuveize said—under the bad temper and poor manners, lay a solid core of decency, and the temper and the manners were not the heart of his personality. Constant pain, constant stress, would wear down the most hardened of people, and Juimei had lost too much to bear it easily. He drew his knees up under his chin, and looked at the sleeping prince. Even unconscious, he didn’t entirely lose the marks of strain, but still, he looked much younger and more innocent this way. He’d lost some of his handsome looks over the past few months, lost weight he could not afford. A few more hearty meals like their lunch would go a long way to helping repair that, at least. Wepizi sighed. It had been such a lovely morning, pleasant company, good weather, and a meal fit for his majesty himself. It seemed years since he’d done anything like it—it made him realise how much he missed Romi and Karik, and his friends at Tsikiugui. Next year would be easier—if they didn’t have another earthquake. Next year, he could perhaps take Juimei hunting as he so obviously longed to do. Surely it would be possible—the man could ride, so Wepizi was sure he could be taught to use a bow again, and he already had the other skills. He frowned, remembering. Juimei still planned to leave. Wepizi was torn about whether he should encourage that or not. On one hand, the stress of the position, the conflicting pressures of town and court, with him in the middle, only added to the problems of being disabled with no decent outlets. But if he had those decent outlets, then Dizeindo and the whole region could keep a good governor, without that governor suffering. If Wepizi could give him those outlets, he would make up for the pain he’d caused, and maybe, just maybe, make a friend. Juimei was such a wary creature though. Just like Jozin.

Only...not really like Jozin. He frowned again. There were pieces of the puzzle missing. He still had no explanation for Juimei’s strange behaviour before Wepizi had given him such cause for anger. Nuveize said he had the clues. Well, if he did, he couldn’t make any sense of it at all. He’d made a start, and they had time. He’d work it out eventually. He got comfortable, poured himself the rest of the tea, and sipped from it, relishing the luxury of being able to do so without anyone or anything claiming his attention. The only real difference regaining his position had made was that he had even more to do, and more decisions to make. Tovoi had been quite gleeful in shoving that back onto him. Not that Tovoi wouldn’t make a fine tezrei anyway, but Wepizi would relish putting the man up for promotion, just to pay him back. He closed his eyes, looking up through his lids at the glow of the sun through them, feeling the warmth of it on his face, and through his clothes. At times like this, he felt very close to Sephiz’s love, and to Lema—he felt comforted by the good things in the world, and all it offered. And friends, too, my love. Thank you for that second chance. I know you had a hand in it, somehow. He believed she had a hand in all the good things that happened to him, and guided him through the bad. He knew somehow, she could see him here, in the sunshine, with a friend, and that she approved. He’s not really your kind of person, is he? But he’s good at heart, and you always liked that in a man. Lema would try to understand Juimei, he knew. She’d worry over it, and him, until she’d worked it out, and even his occasional unkindness would not deter her. She had patience with wounded things, far more than he had. Juimei repaid patience. His difficulty in trusting people wasn’t really his fault. He sat, thinking, remembering, dreaming a little. He shifted after a while to shade Juimei because he was pinking up, and he didn’t want their prince to end up with a painful burn which would spoil their lovely day. Juimei didn’t stir, sleeping like a dead man. Wepizi didn’t begrudge him the time. There was plenty to see, plenty to think about. But finally, the prince twitched, then opened his eyes. He jerked a little as he saw Wepizi, as if he couldn’t remember where he was and why an army officer was sitting in his bedroom, but then quickly became alert, pushing himself up. Wepizi got hold of his arm and helped him sit. “Thank you. How long did I sleep?” Wepizi squinted at the sky. “A couple of hours, no more.” “Ah. I’m sorry to impose.” “No imposition. I’ve had a very peaceful time.” “No small thing,” Juimei said, smiling. Then he moved his neck and winced. “Ouch.” “Crick? You want me to massage it...?”

“No!” Wepizi blinked at the vehemence. “No...I’m fine. Thank you.” He rubbed his face. “I think I might have needed that.” “You probably did. If you want to sleep some more....” “No, I’m fine. But it’s the soundest I’ve slept in...possibly years,” he said, frowning. “Maybe I should move my bedroom out here.” “A tent, Nuveize’s assistance, Jozin to fly you back and forth—why not?” “Because it’s ridiculous,” he said, but he smiled. “Ah—have we time for tea? Or drizu? I can’t believe it but I’m hungry.” “Drizu won’t take but a few minutes, and there’s bread and some of the pie. Your cook will only be insulted if you take it back—trust me on this.” Juimei inclined his head. “You’re far wiser in the ways of women, I suspect. And the last thing I want to do is upset Cook. “ “So finish the pie.” Juimei needed no more urging, and between them, there was naught but crumbs left, which Wepizi scattered to the winds and the birds. The prince seemed in no hurry to leave, sipping his drizu, and looking relaxed and happy as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. Wepizi got a hint of the man he must have been before his accident, when he’d taken his health and fitness for granted. When he was the popular favourite, the people’s prince. If he returned to Visiqe, how would he accept his new role? He longed to ask, but didn’t want to introduce anything to cloud the day. Let the man forget his cares for one day. Let him have one entirely happy memory to take back with him. “I wish Neime could be here to enjoy this,” Juimei said as Wepizi filled his mug again. “He needs a break too.” “We should arrange something, true. I get the impression he’s not too unhappy though.” Juimei grimaced a little. “He wasn’t until I discovered his secret. How he thought I wouldn’t find out, I have no idea.” “I suspect he acted hastily, and then didn’t know how to recover his action. I would stake my life he meant only the best by it.” “Oh, he did. But sometimes being a friend means trusting that one’s friend knows what they’re doing.” But then he smiled ruefully. “Even if they don’t. I can’t pretend this isn’t a better solution. At least now he can relax and enjoy his young lady’s company.” “Ah...I wasn’t aware you’d noticed.” “I’ve known Neime a long time,” Juimei said fondly. This was, at least, apparently no source of pain for him to think about. “His likes and dislikes have never been hidden from me. Laovei seems to be a sweet creature. I wouldn’t discourage him, but I’d like him to take his time.” “You know the Blessed can’t have children.”

“Yes. I suspect that’s something they’ll need to discuss. If it gets that far, that is. I’ll be looking for a new page, I suppose, but when I return to Visiqe, my mother will find another young lad who can put up with me. There’s only one Neime, but I can’t hold him back.” The wistfulness in his voice saddened Wepizi. “The future is by no means fixed.” Juimei started to say something, but then sipped from his mug instead, clearly thinking better of it. “How long before the bridge is usable?” “I don’t know. There’s need for caution, naturally. Soon, I hope. My engineers were talking about widening it, if that was still wanted.” “No, we still can’t afford it. My father authorised funds for the reconstruction, and the extended infirmary—but Mayor Gixiel still won’t realise his ambitions on the back of this. I swear, if he keeps on at me, I’ll institute a local tax and make him the sole target of it.” Wepizi laughed. “Is that legal?” “Oh yes, completely,” Juimei said gravely, though his eyes were full of humour. “Would be worth doing just to see the look on his face.” “That it would. I hadn’t realised you could be so inventive in your revenge.” “You don’t want to find the limits of my inventiveness, tezrei.” He finished off his drizu, then handed his mug back. “We should get back, but I can’t say I want it to be quickly.” “Then let’s ride slowly, and pretend we’re truly men of leisure for a bit.”

~~~~~~~~ They didn’t, in the end, head straight back to town. Wepizi suggested they rode a little way north, though not as far as the ferry, and then back. By the time they rode into the stable yard, Juimei was ready to stop—he would pay for this day’s excursion tomorrow with sore backside and legs, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it in the least. It had been one of the better days of his life, and that it had come so soon after one of his worst, made it even more welcome and precious. Neime ran out to greet them. “Did you have a good time?” he asked breathlessly, then rushed to help Juimei dismount in his usual inelegant fashion. “Yes, we did, rather. You knew about this, didn’t you, you little brat.” “Wepizi just checked with me to find out if you were feeling up to it. The rest was him, I swear.” Juimei had reason to be suspicious when his page got that innocent look on his face, but he seemed to be sincere. “Hmmm. Well, no harm done.” Wepizi wasn’t looking at him, and Juimei realised he sounded less than enthusiastic. He raised his voice. “In fact, it was an excellent plan, so thank you for helping arrange it.” Wepizi smiled to himself as he undid his saddlebag.

Neime was taken off guard by the sudden praise. “Uh...you’re welcome.” “Take the doigs away, Neime, and I’ll see you indoors.” Neime bowed and took the reins of his and Wepizi’s animals, then led them over to the stables. Wepizi held the saddlebags—Juimei put out his hand for them, and hooked them over his shoulder. “I really hope you didn’t mind being kidnapped,” Wepizi said. “No, I can honestly say I didn’t mind at all in the end. Thank you.” “You’re welcome. But now I should get back and see what mischief Kilinze’s been up to.” Juimei half had it in his mind to invite Wepizi to stay for supper, but perhaps the man had had enough of his company. “It’s as well he at least recognises your authority. It’s hard to know what we’d do if he didn’t.” “Ask Jozin to squash him, I suppose.” Juimei grinned at the image, and Wepizi chuckled. “But it’s less dramatic my way. Sleep well, your highness,” he said, bowing deeply. “And you.” It really was shocking, he thought, how long it had been since he had walked from outdoors into his own home. Gimoz, of course, was waiting—in his own way, he was as much of a mind reader as Nuveize. “Welcome back, your highness. Did you have a nice time?” Did his household have nothing to do but wonder about his little excursion? “Very much so.” He slipped the saddlebags off his shoulder, and his butler took them. “Gimoz, please thank Cook for her excellent lunch, and could you arrange two pies to be delivered to the tezrei at the barracks each week? One savoury, one sweet. She can choose the filling.” “Yes, of course,” Gimoz said, bowing low, and not questioning his eccentricity in the least. Count Fiezenai would probably have sent a dozen pies, but Juimei was mindful they were still under emergency conditions, however fast they were abating, and he didn’t want Wepizi to be embarrassed. Two pies would let him entertain his senior officers from time to time, or he could stuff his face to his heart’s content, whichever he chose. He smiled at the idea of the ever polite Wepizi doing something so indelicate. Ah, but he was already stiffening up. Neime noticed of course. “You need a massage,” he told Juimei firmly. “And the steam room.” The steam room had only recently been repaired, and Juimei had yet to use it. It would do his muscles the world of good. “Steam room, yes. Massage, no. What?” he asked, seeing Neime’s expression go blank. “Oh, it was just that Iome asked if she could practice her therapeutic techniques on you, and I’d already said yes. She gave Laovei a massage earlier—she’s very good.” Juimei eyed his friend suspiciously. “You agreed without asking me?”

“I didn’t think there was any harm in it. It’s just a massage.” “Hmmm.” “Nuveize?” “Yes, your highness?” “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” “Not at all. He’s speaking the bare truth. Iome is learning the art of massage, and needs a suitable subject. Why don’t you accept? I doubt your feelings will be aroused by her touch.” He frowned at the empty air, not pleased to have his inconvenient emotions exposed so bluntly. “Jui?” “Oh...sorry, I was thinking. If she needs the practice, then it can’t do any harm. But later— the steam room, and then I better just see if any disasters have arisen, before we eat.” Neime’s reaction reminded him again that he much preferred the lad’s smiles to his sighs. He clapped Neime’s shoulder. “Come on—I’ve actually earned a pampering today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 27 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei rather thought that since honour had been served and peace restored, he wouldn’t see much of Wepizi after that day. The man, after all, was very busy, and Juimei could share in very little of his activities. But he was wrong about that. Two days after their excursion, Wepizi turned up at the residence to present his report in person—completely unnecessarily, though it was nice to see him—and then casually suggested that Juimei might like to go with him down to the civilian camp and see how things were progressing. Juimei thought it a fine idea for a fine afternoon, and the visit was well received. A good day’s work. A few days later, Wepizi asked if Juimei might like to attend the blessing and opening of the new barracks block. He had no objection to that, nor the invitation a little afterward to witness the modest double wedding at the camp of two soldiers to two civilians. Precious stores of razika were used to toast the new brides and grooms, and Juimei made a short impromptu speech which seemed well received by people already in a good mood from such a happy event. When Wepizi showed up not long after that to say he had asked the army saddle maker to investigate modifying the standard doig saddle to make it easier for Juimei to mount and dismount, and asking if Juimei fancied trying out the first version, Juimei stared at his tezrei in perplexity. “Wepizi, you’re not, by some chance, making a project of me, are you?” “No, your highness,” the man said cheerfully, stroking his ridiculous moustache. “I took the liberty of setting it as a task for our saddler, because encouraging innovation is part of my remit. I hope you didn’t mind me using you as a practical example of why such a saddle might be needed.” “Uh...no. I suppose I don’t mind helping develop such a thing. Just as long as it doesn’t take all evening.” Which it didn’t—the drizu at the barracks and the short ride with the new saddle and the saddler for Juimei to really try it out, took a little longer than he’d hoped it might, but he didn’t notice the time passing at all. After that, he became used to Wepizi dropping over every other day or so, always with some apparently sound reason why he and he alone had to attend, and not one of his soldiers. There were any number of excuses for the visits, and nearly as many for winkling Juimei out of his office and going for a ride or a walk. He was spending quite a lot of time on doig back, and it had a beneficial effect on his weak side and overall health. The new saddle gave him confidence, though he was a long way from racing.

Suddenly, it was nothing unusual for him to ride out to the camp on his own, or up to the bridge to watch the repairs. Sometimes he went with Wepizi, several times with Neime, and once with Nuveize to let her ‘see’ a bit of the countryside before the weather turned. He didn’t need someone to mind him anymore—if he had company, that was all it was. He regularly found he wasn’t in his office for more than three or four hours a day. Strangely, his work still got done. The other strange thing was that his headaches...disappeared. The near-migraine he’d had before the excursion to the bridge was the last. He started to sleep more soundly too, and when his neck or shoulders troubled him, or his leg—more often from riding than from fatigue—Iome used her new skills to soothe him and ease the tightness before it and the pain became unmanageable. Fortunately Neime never questioned why Iome could do for him what he would not accept from Neime himself. Nuveize had been right though—Iome roused no desires in him, and he could allow her gentle hands to ease the pain. Whether it was that, or the increased exercise and fresh air, he didn’t know, but he felt fitter and happier in himself than he had since the accident. He couldn’t help but notice that his increased well-being had an effect on those around him—his staff, Neime and Wepizi all relaxed more in his company, took it for granted he could manage, that he wouldn’t be unduly fatigued by this or that demand on him, and ceased to fuss. That went a long way to improving his temper. Giwade moved back into the residence, and that was as clear an indicator of the change in Juimei’s life as one could wish. All the Blessed were settling in properly, and taking a full role in the town’s doings. Wepizi continued to be their ‘manager’ but even Kilinze needed less of that than he had. In the late autumn, once school lessons resumed, it was expected he would join in. Though he still muttered the odd disparaging remark about ‘normals’, Juimei rather thought that was just to test whoever was listening. Juimei made a habit of completely ignoring the comments, and Kilinze stopped trying to bait him. Thanks to the Blessed, and the concerted dedication of the army and skilled civilians, the barracks, old and new, were completed a month ahead of schedule. It allowed them to plan five more large houses before winter meant they’d have to stop. Mid-autumn, the day came when the civilian camp could be struck, since proper accommodation had now been found for everyone there. Wepizi suggested that it might be appropriate to mark the occasion in some way, since a good many of the soldiers who’d been involved in the work would be leaving soon. “Any thoughts as to where?” Juimei asked. The camp itself had already been taken down. “The square?” Wepizi rubbed his chin. “I thought, perhaps...the new graveyard. I’ve heard a bit of muttering about how wrong it is that those people lie where no attention will be paid to them.” “And this would give that place status—yes, a good idea. Yet another one,” he corrected ironically. “I suggest, you execute—you suggest and I execute. We’re a team, Jui.”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” Juimei said, a little surprised at the realisation. “Would you arrange it? I don’t suppose they’ll want much from me—have the tinwis there, of course. And it’d be nice if the civilians could speak, if they wanted. The mayor will want to be there, I suppose. Let’s see if we can get him to shut up in under ten minutes.” “Actually.... Perhaps you should take the lead, Jui—not the tinwis, and not his honour. The women in the camp looked to you for guidance and support through all this, and received it. I think a speech by you would be welcome.” “I....” He didn’t like the idea. He was fine if the public speaking was impromptu, unrehearsed, but he’d make a mess of it if he planned it in advance. “Surely the tinwis—” “Would agree,” Wepizi said gently. “It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. I think the bereaved families would count it an honour.” That swung it naturally, as Wepizi undoubtedly knew it would do. The tezrei was becoming a little too good at reading him sometimes. “If I give a speech, you have to give a speech. That’s the deal.” “As you wish,” Wepizi said, stroking his moustache, and looking insufferably pleased at getting his way. If the man ever did it for his own benefit, Juimei would have found it annoying —but as it was always for the good of the town, his soldiers or Juimei himself, it was hard to resent it. Juimei’s life was a lot easier when he didn’t waste time resenting harmless things. A note came that afternoon to say the little ceremony had been arranged two days hence. Juimei decided he would not prepare a speech. That way, he couldn’t get worked up about it and there was less chance of making an idiot of himself. Neime thought it a wonderful idea. “It’ll mean a lot to ‘Vei,” he said. “I mean, with her not being able to go to Timinke’s funeral.” “Of course. How’s that new foot performing?” The original prosthesis had been too clumsy—Juimei had got Wepizi’s clever saddle maker onto devising a lighter, more comfortable one that gave a more natural movement. The girl had been using it for about two weeks now. “Oh, it’s a lot better. Wepizi thought Soliene might be able to make more improvements— Soliene is going to send the designs to the academy in Visiqe for their comments. Wepizi even said his friends in Darshek might be interested. Did he tell you that he thinks they might bring their expedition through here next year? I’d love to meet them.” “You might do. But...you realise I might not be here then.” Neime sat down and gave him one of his extensive repertoire of soulful looks. “You’re really still thinking of leaving? You’ve been much happier...I thought you’d given up on that idea. Is it...because of what I did? Still?” “No, of course not. I told you—over, forgiven, sealed and not to be mentioned again. I meant that, Neime. I just...feel it’s time to move on.”

“What about me?” “You should do what is best for you. I don’t demand a decision now, or that you follow me. I’ll make sure you’re settled whatever you choose. If you want to build a home here...maybe even with Laovei.” “We haven’t...I mean, it’s not—” Juimei raised his hand. “I mention it only as a possibility. If not her, whomever you fall in love with—all I mean to say is that you’ll start your new life in a secure position. I won’t abandon you.” “No, you just plan to run back to Visiqe where that man is,” he spat, managing to make the harmless word sound like the vilest insult in the Andonese tongue. “How can you bear it? Watching him smirk, listening to his lies.” “I wasn’t planning to do either,” Juimei said mildly, though Mikinze was definitely a reason not to go back to court. “I don’t have to associate with him. My parents dislike him—he’s not one of their intimates.” “So you plan to hide in their apartments again? After you’ve come so far and achieved so much? Jui, you can’t!” “Peace, Neime,” he said, not wanting an argument with his page when things had been so much more pleasant over the last two months. “I’m still thinking about it. I have a right to my future, as you have yours. I won’t do anything without giving you ample warning.” Though clearly unhappy, Neime thankfully didn’t argue further. “Do you want me to order the governor’s carriage? Then Laovei can ride without it being obvious.” “Would you? She’s not up to walking that far yet.” “I’m surprised you don’t want to sweep her up in your arms and carry her down there yourself.” Neime actually stuck his tongue out. “Don’t be silly. We’re just good friends.” “Of course.” Juimei had spotted Laovei giving Neime a quick kiss the day before. It might have been a friendly kiss, but the way Neime had grinned indicated something else. Juimei would never admit it, but it was one of the reasons he was still thinking of leaving. Neime was a man now—too old to be waiting on a crippled prince, and ready to move on in his career and his personal life. If Juimei made the choice for him, Neime could stay in Dizeindo and act as the new governor’s official assistant. Juimei might not have much influence, but with his recommendation, he could guarantee Neime would be kept on. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on, not while he could still get out and about and enjoy his newfound freedom. The winter was the appropriate time for introspection, when there was often little to do but sit indoors and think. His feelings about resigning were mixed, contradictory. Neime and Wepizi both had a way of confusing him about what he wanted to do.

He wasn’t surprised when, about an hour before the ceremony, Wepizi turned up at the residence in crisp and immaculate best-uniform, offering to act as the official escort to his carriage. By now, he’d have been surprised if the man had not. “His honour will complain,” Juimei said as he closed his files. Wepizi raised an eyebrow. “On what score this time?” “Because you’re at my side again, instead of his. He considers the dignity of his office requires the attendance of the tezrei at official events—he was most upset no one escorted him to the barracks opening.” Wepizi looked unmoved. “I am an officer of his majesty and council’s army, not Dizeindo and Huoinevol district. I could let him have a groi, if he’s nice to me. A junior groi, second class, perhaps.” “Hmmm, I suspect that would be worse than no escort at all. Dizeindo is the vice-regal seat. Mayor Gixiel can live with that, or step down.” “Nuveize, are you all ready?” “Just coming, your highness. My, Wepizi looks fine, doesn’t he?” “Yes, he does.” Juimei was glad he’d made a special effort with his own grooming. Young Laovei had even gone so far as to compliment him on his appearance, which had surprised him since she rarely spoke to him at all. He suspected she found him intimidating. “I hope you put a clean shirt on. You looked most disreputable earlier. Ow.” He rubbed his head. She had a nasty trick of pinging his brain when he offended her. “Hurry up, woman.” “Don’t be rude, your arseness. We’ll find you in the main hall.” Wepizi was looking at him, as if puzzled by his inattention. “Just telling our friends to come along,” Juimei explained, still rubbing his sore head. “Ah. I hear his honour might not be a problem for much longer.” “Oh, you’ve heard the mutterings too?” Neime had reported there rumbles of unhappiness among the elders and other senior townsfolk about some of the mayor’s actions during the crisis. “Elder Frankel is being spoken of as a replacement. Not much of an improvement.” “Ah, but not quite as rigid, or...rigid,” Wepizi said, though his tone implied ‘stupid’. “It might be easier to keep him under control.” “Yes, I suppose.” When they’d discussed the mayor and his overweening pride before, Wepizi had been frank, though ever polite, in agreeing that Juimei’s lack of obvious presence before had been at least partly responsible for Gixiel’s overdeveloped sense of importance. It was a relief to have someone other than Neime who would speak to him honestly, offer advice with no thought of advantage or advancement. If wanting to set Neime free to follow his destiny was pushing Juimei in the direction of leaving, the idea of not having Wepizi there to help him not be such a bloody idiot all the time threw chains over him and made him want to stay.

But that in itself was reason to go. He knew all too well that building anyone into his future —page, friend, or lover—was asking for fortune to trip him up again. So he definitely wouldn’t do that. To stay for Wepizi’s friendship was a guarantee that his friendship would fail. Juimei was determined to enjoy it now while he could, but not let it tempt him into changing his mind over leaving. Anything else was foolish. Wepizi waited politely for him to finish up, then Juimei gathered his cane and came over. “Shall we?” Neime waited with Laovei and Nuveize, who, Juimei was pleased to see, had changed her shirt. She’d set up a little workroom in the corner of the stables, and was experimenting with working clay. A fine and useful activity, but she did tend to forget other people could see how grimy she got. Laovei looked clean and tidy too, holding onto Neime’s arm, and leaning on her crutch—she’d recently been able to stop using two, which was an advance, Juimei had been told. It was possible she might even be able to walk unaided, but she was a while from doing that. “The others will meet us there?” he asked. “All arranged,” Neime said. “‘Vei, I hope you realise what an honour it is to travel in the governor’s carriage.” “Oh yes. Thank you, your highness. I’m looking forward to it,” she said shyly. “Even if, unfortunately, it means travelling with the governor,” Nuveize said quellingly. “Your highness, you may take my arm.” “Why, of course, my lady. Don’t make me trip, this is my best pair of trousers.” Wepizi just grinned at the now well-rehearsed double act. He said it reminded him of good friends of his, who were apparently lovers. Juimei wondered how they would have spoken to each other if they’d been enemies. He put out his elbow, and she laid an undemanding hand on it—he couldn’t risk giving her full support, but she only needed his eyes. Then they made their slow, stately way to the back of the building. Wepizi helped Nuveize into the carriage, Neime assisting Laovei. Then Wepizi used his strong arm to boost Juimei up into his seat. “There,” Wepizi said, looking at them all in approval. You look very grand, Laovei.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go, tezrei. Driver?” Wepizi swung up onto his doig and took position ahead of the carriage, then they moved at walking pace out of the residence and out into the street. The town was quiet—most people were up at the second graveyard, though there were soldiers here and there, and the old barracks was busy. The army never really stopped, of course. Through the town gates, past the new barracks, and then people could be seen walking up to the field where so many of their kin and friends were buried. As Juimei’s carriage was spotted, people stopped to watch, to cheer, to wave. Juimei waved back, bowing occasionally, as did

Wepizi. The closer they got, the more well-wishers impeded their progress, but Wepizi had apparently foreseen this, for now a squad of smartly turned out soldiers came to escort them and clear a path. Most of the four thousand residents and soldiers were here, crowding around, but not on, the graveyard. Juimei was rather glad he hadn’t realised that so many would attend. His courage would have failed him. Nuveize and the others were to remain in the carriage to watch the ceremony, but Wepizi assisted Juimei down, then led him, soldiers marching behind them in an honour guard, up to the makeshift podium. Juimei smiled at Tinwis Kiein, but wasn’t too pleased to see Mayor Gixiel had somehow managed to inveigle himself up on to the dais, which left precious little room for Juimei himself to stand. Wepizi coughed. “Your honour, I’m afraid his highness will need you to step aside if he’s to mount.” The mayor gave Wepizi the dirtiest of dirty looks, glared at the tinwis, but clearly couldn’t find a way of suggesting that Kiein move instead, then gathered his robes about him and stomped down the steps. “Thank you, your honour. Your highness?” Juimei went up the steps without help, and then raised his hand for silence. “My friends, my fellow Andonese. Before we begin, please let us pray for our departed companions.” The tinwis stepped forward, and made a short, heartfelt plea to Sephiz to which even Juimei, in his scepticism, could not find the heart to object. The tinwis was a decent, devout person, and his faith, like Wepizi’s, sprang from honest conviction. Juimei had met a few holy men in Visiqe more obviously in love with their status in the community, but Kiein lived by his own beliefs, simply and without any ostentation, offering comfort to the grieving, and blessings to those celebrating happy occasions like weddings and births. He had done a lot of good work during this crisis, and Juimei had arranged for the rebuilding of his little shrine out of his own salary. It was the least he could do. The audience followed the tinwis’s words, and made the usual response at the end. Then they fell silent, expectant. Juimei thanked the holy man, and came forward. “My friends—today marks a milestone in our recovery from the earthquake. Tonight, many of you will sleep in your own homes, thanks to the hard work of the army and the Blessed. The rest of you will at least be safe and secure in proper beds, under proper roofs. Again, we have the army and the Blessed to thank.” He turned towards Wepizi and his soldiers, bowed deeply, and then towards Nuveize and the other Blessed, over by the carriage. “I, for his majesty and council, thank you. We thank you all.” Applause broke out, a slow ripple becoming a wave of noise spreading out from the centre. Wepizi acknowledged the thanks with a formal bow, smiling as he did so.

“You all have worked hard,” Juimei continued. “You all have suffered. The army, the Blessed too, have lost their own, and yet you all have pulled together and made this town rise up, stronger and better than before. This day shall be marked down as a day of honour, of hope, and remembrance.” He swept his arm out towards the graves, now covered with grass and hardy weeds, softening the mounds a little, but still obviously fresh, as the grief was fresh. “This place, this graveyard, shall also be a place of honour and remembrance. I decree a memorial shall be built where I stand now, to list all those who died, and declaring to those who come after us that here we might have lost friends, family and homes, here we might have been injured and sorrowing, but here too, we rose up, we rebuilt, we made their deaths not in vain. This place shall represent the spirit of Dizeindo and our nation, and I decree that henceforth on this day each year, we shall gather, remember and celebrate. They shall not be forgotten. I will not forget. You will not forget. And we will ever honour their memories.” More applause, louder, more enthusiastic than before, cheers for king and council, and even Juimei himself. He smiled and bowed, and told himself these people deserved so much better than him. They were the very best this country had to offer. The mayor made a speech, thankfully short, and then Wepizi climbed up and thanked the people of the town for their support of the army, praising them for their civic-mindedness and generosity. “And though some of us will be leaving for a few months,” Wepizi said. “We will return and be part of your community and your lives. We live to serve and protect you, and I would give my life to do that. Now let us go forward, for king and council!” A great roar rose up, and more applause. Other people rose to speak—Lasila’s mother, other women, some of the men, some who had lost family. And Iome, speaking for all the Blessed, thanked the town for welcoming them, and for providing a resting place for their beloved Timinke, for helping Laovei recover. Warm applause greeted her words, and she bowed and blushed quite charmingly, a gentle and well-liked ambassador for her kind. The tinwis concluded matters with another prayer—or rather, Juimei thought they’d been concluded, but Wepizi had a surprise for him. “Your highness, a few of us, some of the women from the camp and so on, wanted to have a little celebration at the new barracks, just informally. Everyone’s welcome,” he said, lifting his voice. “A party? Here?” Juimei coughed. “Uh...won’t my presence make it rather formal?” “Only if you wish it,” Wepizi said. “Of course, if you would rather go back?” “No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He shot a look at Neime and the Blessed, looking suspiciously pleased with themselves. “Carry on, tezrei.” Not everyone who’d attended would be coming of course—but a very large number were. His carriage could only crawl along, even with the soldiers’ escort, through the throng walking

back up towards the town and the new barracks site. The activity he’d noted on the way out, was now explained—trestle tables were laid out, and large containers of what he suspected were fruit wine and drizu were set out. There was food too, nuts, fruit, and some sweetmeats that were local specialities. Just small titbits rather than a proper meal, but considering the numbers of people, that was all that was practical. Everyone was crowded into what would eventually be the main courtyard for the barracks, but which was now just packed earth, fortunately clear of much of the building materials that had littered it until recently. There wouldn’t be much more construction taking place here until the spring—all the attention had moved to the town. They had done well, and all they could for now. Again Juimei was cheered as Wepizi led him through the crowd up to a cloth-covered trestle set aside for his and his guests’ use. Before he sat, he called for silence, and eventually got it. “Let me say, as your governor—everyone, please enjoy yourselves! By the order of the king and council, naturally.” Laughter and applause, then he could sit. “Some wine, your highness?” Wepizi asked. “Yes, thank you. How on earth have you had time to organise all this?” “It was the women mostly, and your ‘special couriers’ did a lot of the work. People wanted a bit of fun. It wasn’t that much effort.” “Still.... Go on, I don’t want my presence to change anything. But you might send Neime and the others up there—Laovei will want to sit, and I doubt Nuveize will appreciate having to navigate through this.” Wepizi bowed. Juimei watched him walk away, astonished at the care the man put into everything he did, the thought he had for other people. It all seemed so effortless too, and the idea of reward never entered his head. It was chaos, but no more chaos than he’d seen at court, and it was cheering to see smiles on so many faces, everyone relaxed and without the ingrained worry he had seen so much of over recent months. Even with this many people, the army coped with supplying cups of juice, drizu and wine, and people broke up into smaller groups, chatting, drinking and nibbling at their treats. Children chased each other around, in the way children always seemed to in large gatherings. After the solemnity of the graveyard ceremony, their excited laughter was refreshing. A few minutes later, Neime turned up, escorting Laovei and Nuveize. “Isn’t it wonderful?” he said, as he helped them find their seats “You should know,” Juimei said dryly. “You could have told me.” “I wasn’t sure you’d approve. I’ll get some drinks. Back soon.” He slipped off through the crowd in search of refreshment. “Iome’s speech was very fine,” Juimei said to Nuveize. “She’s impressive in her quiet way.”

“She’s blooming. It’s what I hoped for, when I asked for your help.” For once Nuveize was entirely serious, no sarcasm or irony in her tone. “And where’s mischief?” “Kilinze’s off playing with some of his new friends. He promises not to bake anyone too severely. Jozin and Giwade are keeping an eye on him. Iome and Helinoa are talking to some of their friends.” She looked at him. “Do you know how sweet it sounds to be able to say that?” “I do, actually. Laovei, are you happy being here? If you want to go back to the residence, you can at any time.” “No, this is wonderful,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I never thought I’d see so many people in one place. I liked your speech too, Juimei. Will you add Timinke’s name to the memorial?” “Of course. I know it’s not much....” “No, it’s good. It’s good people will remember him.” He took her hand. “People will,” he said gently. “I’ll make sure of that. No one will forget any of those who died, or why. Or how your kind did so much to help us. That won’t be forgotten either.” She smiled again, though she was a little red-eyed. She was entitled to her grief. It was no small thing, what had happened to her and her friend. Before he left, he would have to make sure that she and all the Blessed were safe, their future secured. He owed them that much at the very least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 28 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wepizi found his rank afforded him very few privileges when it came to jostling for a mug of wine or two. There were far more people than he’d expected, but his soldiers clearly had good intelligence on the numbers because they were coping fine with the demand. Earthquakes, town parties—there wasn’t much his people couldn’t turn their hands too. “Make that six mugs, tezrei!” He turned and grinned at Neime. “As you wish, your grace. Laovei and Nuveize settled?” “Yes, and Nuveize’s even being nice to him. Wonders will never cease.” “They have to be rude to conceal how much they like each other,” Wepizi said. “Hmmm, then Nuveize must really like his highness, don’t you think?” Wepizi chuckled. “I suspect so. Ah yes, six mugs please,” he said to the young soldier asking what he needed. “Not all for me,” he hastened to add. She only smiled and filled the mugs—Neime got a plate of sweetmeats and nuts, and together they wended their way carefully back through the milling masses. Wepizi heard music— someone had organised the town orchestra, or parts of it anyway. As they reached the table and set their treasures down, a voice was suddenly lifted in song, and there was applause as people recognised a popular tune. Very quickly, other voices joined in and many in the crowd began to hum, tap feet or sing along. “That’s pretty,” Laovei said, sounding rather surprised. “Have you not heard the song before, ‘Vei?” Neime asked. “No, and I’ve never heard people singing like this, all together. It’s so nice.” “And they sing well. Some of your people, I fancy, Wepizi?” Wepizi cocked his head, listening. “Ah yes, I think so. I recognised Benonti’s voice, at least. He has a fine baritone.” “Do you sing, Wepizi?” she asked. “A little. Juimei?” “I used to,” he said, without any hint of it causing him pain. “Not now of course.” “Perhaps you should,” Nuveize said. “Some of our older Blessed could sing quite well, even into their last years. It was good for them, I think. It might make your voice more confident.” Wepizi’s smile tightened, as he waited for Juimei to object to the remark. But the prince only nodded. “There might be something in that. Yes, you could be right. Perhaps during the winter, I’ll see if I can get someone to give me some lessons.”

Wepizi relaxed. The prince had come a long way since Wepizi’s first encounter with him, physically and emotionally. Wepizi sometimes worried it was only a temporary improvement, but it seemed Juimei really had grown and changed. Even if he didn’t believe in Sephiz’s benevolence, their prince had received it in abundance, at least of late. Laovei was entranced by the music, and Neime was entranced watching her. So sweet together, Wepizi thought, and found Juimei looking at him, clearly thinking the same thing. He was glad Juimei was taking this well—he’d been afraid the prince might be jealous or afraid of losing Neime, but from everything he’d seen, Juimei had been nothing but kind and encouraging, not just to Laovei, but to all the Blessed. Even shy Giwade was coming out of his shell, and had confessed that he now quite liked being around Juimei, who gave him the occasional lesson in Andonese history and government when both had time. Yes, Juimei was thriving just as much as young Iome or Giwade, and Wepizi was glad to have seen it. Glad, when he would have never believed it possible, to be proved so profoundly wrong. Glad, when he’d least expected it, to have found another true friend. Even if this friend looked like he would leave as Romi had done. Still, at least both were alive, and that meant it was always possible he would see them again. He would miss Juimei though. He wished the prince wasn’t so set on going. Even understanding the reasons, he still found it a great pity. But he didn’t want to ruin this happy occasion with sad thoughts. He’d debated whether to get up and move around to meet people, but it seemed a bit ungracious to invite the prince and then abandon him. In the end, it hardly mattered—people came up to chat, his friends and people who had come to know Juimei. Several children dragged their parents over to talk to him, and he spoke gravely to each one, enquiring after their health and schooling and whether they liked their new accommodation or not. The Blessed came over too, and Giwade decided he wanted to sit with them, squeezing in between Laovei and Juimei. “This is nice,” he said firmly. “Everyone’s so happy.” No one could make that statement more authoritatively than him, Wepizi thought. “Wepizi, it’s getting dark,” Kilinze said. “Should I light things up?” “Yes, please—but discreetly. No big fireballs,” he said sternly. But Kilinze could be taught, for though he grinned in the same cocksure way as ever, there was no dramatic illumination. Instead, high above them, a thousand tiny lights appeared, slowly brightening, so delicate that it was several minutes before people noticed them. When they did, there were oohs and aahs of appreciation, and much delighted pointing up at the sky, but no panic or terror. “Well done,” Juimei murmured. “Very lovely, Kilinze.” The boy smiled happily at the rare praise. The yard was now as bright as early twilight, removing the need for candles and lamps, though a couple were lit near the serving tables. The singing was still going on, and the musicians

seemed to have an endless repertoire, for they had played for nearly two hours without repeating themselves. People drifted off, but the yard was still crowded, still cheerful. Wepizi suspected once all the food and drink had run out, it would end quite naturally, but he was in no hurry to order things to a premature close. This was important for everyone, townsfolk and soldiers alike. And the Blessed too. He grinned, watching Jozin talking with Tovoi, clearly getting passionate, Tovoi listening to him and inciting him to greater enthusiasm—Jozin had become great friends with Wepizi’s senior lep, and had even talked about joining the army in the regular fashion, though Wepizi had his doubts as to whether that was such a good idea or if his majesty would permit it. Tovoi continued to counsel patience, on Wepizi’s instructions—so far, Jozin enjoyed the comradeship and fulfilment of his new role, and it was good to see. A sprightly tune struck up, a dancing tune, and it was taken up at first by just two couples, but very quickly by a dozen or more, forming a circle. Another circle was rapidly formed by laughing friends dragging others into the space being cleared by the crowd, and then another. It was a progressive dance, partners being handed around not just within the circle but also between them. “That looks complicated,” Giwade said gravely. “It looks fun,” Laovei said with a wistful tone. Neime squeezed her hand. “It is,” Juimei agreed, just as wistfully. Wepizi glanced at him, and found him looking at the dancers with the same longing as Laovei. He recalled a conversation a long time ago about things that could not be again, things Juimei desperately wanted to do again—and remembered dancing had been near the top of that list. Wepizi had tried to give him some of those things—but this, this he could not give him. Juimei really wouldn’t ever dance with this ease and agility again, just as Laovei would not. All the kindness and patience in the world wouldn’t change that. He found himself wanting to take Juimei’s hand in comfort, the way Neime had with Laovei, and stopped himself with a jerk. Such a gesture could never be taken as anything but an advance, and it wasn’t fair to.... His thoughts suddenly ground to a halt. Not fair to.... He looked at Neime, then the prince, then across the dancers to Iome talking to one of the medics, and the clues Nuveize had said were there all along suddenly became as easily seen as Kilinze’s pretty firelights. It wasn’t fair—because he couldn’t follow through. And Juimei had known he couldn’t follow through, and couldn’t bear...to be tantalised. Couldn’t bear the similitude of physical affection...from someone he might.... “Be attracted to? At last, you’ve worked it out. Took you long enough.” Wepizi jumped, then gave Nuveize a reproachful look. “So I’m right? It’s not the touching, it’s who is touching? Iome is safe, not me and not Neime?” “Neime reminds him of you, and you remind him of that horrible man. It doesn’t have to be that way, Wepizi.”

“I never intended....” Wepizi thought back to the original conflict with the prince, the strange change of mood—and realised the timing meant it had to have been that massage which had caused it. Juimei...had become aroused? And so had tried to push him away, with disastrous consequences. “Something so innocent caused so much pain?” “Not entirely, but a large part of it. You’ve been the same, only you don’t realise it. You’re both starving, while a banquet is sitting there under your nose.” “I don’t want another lover.” “Neither does he, not consciously. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t need someone. You’re both driving me insane, watching you.” “You don’t want another lover either.” “Did I say that? The difference for me is that I don’t have someone I desire almost sitting in my lap.” Wepizi jerked again, as he realised he was indeed sitting rather close to the prince. Fortunately, Juimei was absorbed in watching the dancers, a sad smile on his face, and hadn’t noticed his reaction. “I don’t desire him.” “No, of course not. Driving me mad, like I said. But now you know why he has to hold back. You’re both pleasure and pain for him.” “More pain than pleasure?” She gave him a pitying look. “And you think yourself a clever man. I despair of you, I really do.” “Is something wrong, Wepizi?” He blinked and then smiled reassuringly at Juimei, obviously worried by his vacant expression. “I was just thinking how much Lema would have enjoyed this,” he said, the lie becoming the truth as he uttered it. “She was always involved in barrack celebrations and parties.” The prince’s face clouded just briefly. “I’m sorry it’s bringing back sad memories.” “Not sad at all.” “Then I’m glad you have happy ones.” He glanced back at the dancing couples. “I wonder if I could leave discreetly without disrupting things? I could just walk back—Neime, you can stay if you want.” The lad shook his head. “I should....” “Neime, I’d like to stay,” Nuveize said quickly. “Just a while longer? For Giwade and Kilinze?” “Yes, stay,” Juimei urged. “I’m just a little tired, Neime, there’s no need to fuss. Wepizi, I’ll be fine if you ask one of your people to walk me back.”

Wepizi held up his hand. “No, I can’t allow that, your highness. I brought you, I’m taking you home.” Juimei shrugged, but he didn’t look displeased. “As you insist. Don’t rush back, Neime. Enjoy yourself.” “Thanks, I will.” Wepizi waited for the prince to get up, then took his arm. “If we go this way, no one will notice,” he said. Juimei told him to lead on, and by keeping to the very edge of the assembly, they made their escape. And then Wepizi had to run back for a lamp, because Kilinze’s convenient light balls made him forget it was still night time. “How quickly we get used to them,” Juimei said when he returned. “Yes, it’s strange how we adjust. It was a pretty effect, though.” “Most lovely. If he’d stick to doing that kind of thing, we wouldn’t have a problem. I still dread the idea that he might get into a schoolyard fight with another child and set fire to them.” They walked towards the town gates. Once Wepizi would have ordered a cart for them, or doigs at least, but the prince’s stamina was so much better, he could manage a gentle twentyminute walk quite easily. Juimei wasn’t that tired—and then thought wryly it said something that he could know that—so it had to be that he found the party a strain. “I’m sorry the dancing reminded you of things.” Juimei dismissed his concern. “So much does. It’s not like the governor could just throw himself into one of the circles without making it awkward. It’s different at court, among my peers.” Wepizi hadn’t thought of that. “It would make any socialising difficult, outside the court.” “Quite. Fortunately, I have people around me who don’t pay me the slightest bit of respect, so I don’t have to worry about inhibiting them.” Wepizi grinned at that, knowing to what he referred. “I think there’s respect for you— Nuveize’s just not overawed by your position or your lineage.” Juimei smiled a little. “Neither are you. You’re just more polite about it.” “I could try to be ruder, if you’d prefer it. I don’t know that it would suit me.” “It wouldn’t. I like you the way you are. Besides, one Nuveize is nearly one too many.” “You realise she can hear you, don’t you?” A flash of white, perfect teeth. “Oh yes.” Wepizi smiled back, but inside, he wondered how long he could maintain this easy friendship with the man, knowing what he did now. How much of Juimei’s friendliness was sublimated desire? How much of his own was? He strove always to be honest with people, and not to promise more than he could give. Was he, however unconsciously, encouraging the prince

to think there was something more than there was? Or was their friendship only possible because the prince assumed there would never be more? He found it hard to be grateful for his new awareness. He’d been so happy he had repaired what he’d thought irretrievable, and so pleased at how a little kindness and attention had been repaid a hundred-fold. Watching Juimei get his confidence back, his health back, and seeing him become more like the man he must have been before he was hurt, had been so rewarding, Wepizi hadn’t stopped to think why he took such an interest in him. Juimei was completely unaware of his inner turmoil. He was in a subdued but not depressed mood—perhaps he really was a little tired, as he said. “How do you think we should have this memorial designed?” Wepizi shook himself. “Uh...I don’t really know. It should be something special.” “Yes, that’s what I thought. Perhaps a competition among the townsfolk? To make them feel that it’s really theirs? I’d suggest it was paid for by public subscription for that reason, but under the circumstances, people probably can’t afford that. What do you think?” “A competition sounds an excellent idea. If you give people the winter to consider it, we could begin in the spring—plant a garden around the graves, proper railings and so on.” “Yes. I know it’s not inside the town walls, but in a way it’s nice that it looks towards the open plains—it’s a place of serenity, freedom. I think it will give people a place to focus their grief. I hope so. Do you...?” His question trailed off, and he looked away. “Jui?” “Sorry, I was about to be horribly crass. Ignore me.” They walked on, Wepizi holding the lamp so to give Juimei the clearest view of the road. “You were going to ask about Lema, weren’t you?” Juimei stopped. “Yes—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Wepizi smiled, though his heart ached. “What did you want to know?” “I...just wondered how you felt being so far from where she’s buried. Having nowhere to sit and weep for her.” “Her body doesn’t matter, while I carry her in my heart. And I can sit and weep anywhere.” Even now he felt tears pricking at his eyelids. “All too easily,” he whispered. Juimei put his hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. Here, let me....” He took the lamp from Wepizi, then bent and set it down. “Just take a moment.” Wepizi scrubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry...it just...very unexpectedly sometimes....” He covered his face, embarrassed by the sudden rush of emotion—how could the simple thought of Lema’s grave set him off like this, when he’d been thinking of something else entirely?

Juimei waited quietly, his hand on Wepizi’s arm, patient and silently sympathetic. Wepizi felt dreadful for inflicting this display on him—it wasn’t as if this was a fresh grief, to excuse sobbing in the street like a child. And yet the tears would not stop, and he could not force himself to calm down. He hadn’t felt like this in months. “Here,” Juimei murmured, passing him his own handkerchief. “I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to apologise for. It’s I who should apologise for mentioning it. I should have realised it would hurt this much.” Wepizi let out a choked laugh. “How could you when I didn’t?” He wiped his face again. “I’m all right now.” The wobble in his voice made a liar out of him, but he bent to collect the lamp anyway. “Let’s get you home.” A hand on his shoulder, quietly comforting. “Take your time.” Wepizi nodded, and then lifted the lamp. He walked on without speaking, not trusting his voice. Juimei fell into step with him, and they headed through the town gates. One of Wepizi’s soldiers standing on guard, bowed and hailed them as they got to the wall. “Good evening, your highness, tezrei. Do you want me to find you a cart?” “Uh, your highness?” Wepizi asked. “I’m fine walking, but if you want to...?” “No, let’s carry on.” Wepizi just wanted to get Juimei back to his home so he could go and find a quiet place to think—it would take more time than he had patience for, to fetch a cart. “Thank you, groi.” She saluted smartly, and they moved on. The street was quiet—those who hadn’t stayed on for the celebration were indoors, getting their supper. The scent of wood smoke and cooking filled the cool night air. “Hmmm, that’s making me hungry,” Juimei said. “Ah—I wonder if you’d like to have supper with me? I daresay you’ll have a struggle to find anything back at the barracks.” “Thank you, but I’m not really that hungry.” Juimei glanced at him, but said nothing. Wepizi was glad of the tact. They reached the residence just in time to hear the third quarter being tolled on the town hall bell. Juimei’s butler was amazing—he always knew when to appear, despite the complete lack of warning. “Welcome back, your highness, tezrei,” he said with his usual beaming smile. “Will you be wanting your supper now, your highness?” “Yes, Gimoz, I would.” He cleared his throat, seemed rather hesitant. “Wepizi...if you don’t want company, I’m sure Cook would make you a parcel, or you could eat in the kitchen....”

Wepizi raised his hand to stop him, realising he had made Juimei think it was his company which was the problem. Now he’d calmed a little, he didn’t want to cause offence when the prince had been perfectly kind, and he should eat, he knew that. Supper would do no harm. “No, if you don’t object, I’d like to change my mind.” Juimei smiled, obviously relieved as well as pleased. “Then come along—I won’t detain you unnecessarily.” Wepizi allowed himself to be led to Juimei’s rooms, still not really feeling like talking or company, but unwilling to cause a fuss. His grief was something he had to put back in his private thoughts—and the other...well, that too, was best left hidden. If Juimei was assiduously ignoring his own feelings, then Wepizi could do that too. There was no way of broaching the subject without opening it up irrevocably, and Wepizi just wasn’t ready—would never be ready—to contemplate another relationship. Certainly not with a man determined to leave Dizeindo as soon as winter passed. He should stop thinking about this. Nuveize might have thought she was helping, but though he respected her and liked her a great deal, her experience was very limited. He wasn’t a callow youth, to be swayed by someone’s admiration—or his own. He was a senior officer, a widower, someone who had to think about the implications. Just because Juimei might be harbouring some kind of desire towards him (and he only had her word for that), didn’t mean acting on them wouldn’t be a very bad idea. The prince had clearly come to the same conclusion. He was, after all, a very sensible, practical man, just like Wepizi considered himself to be. Juimei’s elegant bedroom was a lot emptier than Wepizi remembered it. The prince noticed his look. “We’ve been able to put things back,” he explained. “The residence is far less crowded than it was—but we could squeeze people in here again, if need be. Any soldiers sleeping in tents over the winter, could come here.” “I’ll bear that in mind. Do you normally eat in here?” Juimei shrugged. “Usually. If I use one of the dining rooms, the staff feel they need to fuss. This way, I get it over and done with. I never used to care about food, but my appetite’s much better of late.” He wagged a finger at Wepizi. “Your doing, tezrei.” Despite his troubled emotions, this amused Wepizi. “Ah, my apologies, your highness. You do indeed look well on it.” “I feel well. I feel...closer to normal than I have in five years. I think if I could somehow overcome this bloody speech defect, I would probably have no real reason to be dissatisfied.” “You place too much importance on it,” Wepizi said with a smile. “It’s really no more noticeable than someone with a slight foreign accent. It’s not unpleasant to the ear or hard to understand. It’s barely noticeable most of the time.” “But you don’t know what I sounded like before. If you’d known me before the accident, you’d despise me now.”

Wepizi gave him a wry look. “I doubt that. Neime knew you before, and doesn’t.” “Neime’s a saint,” Juimei said with a derisive snort. “Did you see him tonight with Laovei? He cares for her so much, and it hurts him, that she can’t dance, move without help. I worry that the things she can’t do, will blind him to what she can.” “Very little risk of that, I think.” “I disagree. He worries about everything, tries to save people from the effects of their own idiocy...and though I have good reason to be grateful for that, he’ll get hurt.” Wepizi made a little bow in acknowledgement. “I also have reason to be grateful, but you have to let him make his own mistakes. The heart doesn’t obey logic.” “No, quite,” Juimei said dryly, taking a seat. A knock came at the door and the prince called for them to enter. Wepizi waited until two polite and efficient servants carried out the well-practised business of setting up the little table and laying it, then took a seat as invited. He still found he wasn’t hungry, but like all Andonese, he’d been brought up not to waste food, and this was finer fare than would be on offer in the barracks for a good many weeks. Possibly ever, for the barracks canteen, even before the earthquake, hardly inspired devotion. Juimei ate quietly, and left Wepizi to his thoughts, gloomy and confused as they were. He dutifully ate the cheese and bread and fruit, glad the kitchen here was used to Juimei’s spare eating habits and had not overburdened them with food. The meal took little time to finish, Juimei being disinclined to linger even while enjoying his meal, and soon all that remained was to drink a last, polite mug of drizu, which Wepizi did with as much haste as was seemly. Finally, he could bow and make his farewell. “Thank you. That was delicious.” “Yes, it was and you’re welcome.” Wepizi stood. Juimei still held his own mug of drizu and rolled it thoughtfully between his hands. “Wepizi, if....” “If?” Juimei looked up, his expression wary, expecting rejection. “Look, I know you aren’t close to me, and I’ve given you reason for that...but if you wanted to talk...ever...or just have someone listen...I used to be a good listener.” Wepizi smiled tightly. “You still are. Thank you...but it’s....” “Too painful?” Wepizi nodded. “I understand—but if you ever would like...I thought I should tell you that.” “It’s appreciated, truly. But now I should go. Thank you for the meal...and the company.” He bowed again. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight.”

He walked out, thanked the staff politely for their hospitality, and then could escape. He wouldn’t find sleep this night, he knew—but he hoped he might find solace in some quiet contemplation. He needed to talk to his love about all this. Lema, never was your wisdom needed more than now. Help me, beloved.

~~~~~~~~ Juimei was sitting in his armchair, lost in his thoughts, when Neime arrived an hour or so after Wepizi left. “Oh, I thought you’d go to bed—I didn’t mean you to sit up for me,” Neime said. “I wasn’t. Did you enjoy yourselves?” “Oh yes! Did you realise none of the Blessed have ever been to a party before? Or seen dancing, except for Nuveize? They loved it!” Juimei smiled at his page’s enthusiasm—the lad glowed with love and happiness, and it warmed even his jaded heart to see it. “Then when things settle down, we should do it again— perhaps in the spring.” He didn’t add ‘before I leave’, since it would only upset Neime, and he’d done more than enough tactless upsetting tonight. “Elder Frankel was talking about the mayor’s winter feast. He said perhaps all the Blessed could go this year. He asked if you might change your mind and come along.” “Eh?” He was as startled by that request as by Frankel being so bold as to issue invitations when he was not—officially, not even close to being—mayor in Gixiel’s place. “I don’t know about that. You can go of course.” “Oh. Maybe.” “I’m surprised the mayor is contemplating a feast this year, with all the disruption.” “Me too, but the elder brought it up, so I assume the mayor’s agreed to it.” Juimei grunted, not at all sure about that. “Something wrong, Jui? Why didn’t you go to bed? I thought you said you were tired.” “I was. More a little out of sorts—watching the dancing.” Neime came and sat down near him. “Ah. ‘Vei too. Wepizi looked upset—was he missing his wife?” Nothing ever got past this lad. “Yes. Very much. You know, I think there really are worse things than what happened to me. It’s been nearly five years for him. How can it hurt so much after all this time?” “I don’t know,” Neime said slowly. “Maybe because he never fell in love again.” “I don’t think he would ever allow himself to do that. I’m pretty sure he would consider it a betrayal of her memory.”

Neime shook his head. “That’s a real shame. He’s not that old. Does he really plan to spend the rest of his life alone?” Juimei wondered the same thing. “His choice. Somehow I doubt his late wife would want him to live like that, if she loved him even half as much as he seems to have loved her. Ah well. Time for bed.” Neime rose to help him. “Laovei’s really pleased about that memorial. They all are. Iome said it means that people know they exist.” “Oh they do, and if they would only stop hiding, they could do so much for this country, and this country could protect them. It’s a start, Neime. Much more can come in time. Uh...by the way, if you want to set up a room with, ah, Laovei, I won’t object.” Neime blushed the most extraordinary colour. “We’re not...I mean...not yet...um....” Juimei clapped his shoulder, vastly amused by his page’s coy embarrassment—it was so sweet and innocent, and made him feel a dreadful old lecher for even mentioning it. “I was just saying. Come on, let’s get to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 29 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wepizi’s lonely life and his apparently endless sorrow occupied Juimei’s thoughts rather a lot over the next few days and weeks. The man himself never mentioned his strange breakdown that evening, and Juimei, feeling very bad that he’d brought it on, didn’t either. Wepizi was as polite and friendly and cheerful as ever, but Juimei couldn’t help but think there was some...reserve...something held back. Nothing he could really pinpoint—perhaps the slightest reduction in the number of visits, a day or two occasionally longer between them than Juimei had grown used to, but nothing that could not, on the face of it, be explained by Wepizi’s other commitments. Nothing, certainly, that Juimei would dream of complaining about, only...seeing him more often had become a habit. It was unsettling, made him irritable—the pull to stay, the need to go—but he did his best to hide it. Foolish to allow himself to build Wepizi into his routine, when Juimei himself planned to leave. After all, it was his own fault he was in this situation. As it usually did in Andon at the change of season, especially in the east, the weather rapidly turned much colder. Barely a month after the ceremony at the graveyard, and just days after they had sent six hundred soldiers south for overwintering in Nedriz and Tsikiugui, they had their first snow. Juimei stared out of his office window at the falling flakes. “I suppose that puts an end to my doig riding for a while,” he said to Neime. “But when it gets deeper, you could try the sleds. Giwade’s wild to have a ride in one.” “Then he shall, though I doubt I’ll be driving it.” The Blessed were so charming in their joy at their new experiences. Giwade more than most of them, because his enjoyment was compounded by sensing the happiness of his companions. Giwade’s own happiness was something Juimei was now very aware of, and careful to protect. The three younger Blessed were now enrolled in school. So far, Giwade was coping, though it was accepted he might not be able to take the stress of prolonged contact with other children for long, and his quiet, gentle nature would make it a trial even without his gift. But he was keen to try schooling, and desperate to learn all he could about the world of normals. Helinoa was thriving, and was popular among her classmates. Kilinze hadn’t yet set fire to anyone, for which Juimei was profoundly grateful. Neime returned to the residence as there was no longer any need to maintain headquarters in the square, and it wasn’t practical to create a place warm and sheltered enough for his use. Juimei promoted him to governor’s liaison, and arranged for him to have his own office. Though it meant an increase in salary and prestige for Neime, it had very little effect on his duties or his relationship with Juimei. During the day, one of the servants did the small amount of fetching and

carrying Juimei required, and his team of clerks continued to carry out the routine work of his governorship. At night, Neime assisted him as always, and slept in his bedroom as before. Yet Juimei was aware that things were about to change, and while he wanted Neime to be happy and settled, he couldn’t help but wish he could keep Neime with him and still achieve those aims. He began to be tormented by false dreams of love, health and happiness again, phantasms of a relationship which had never been what he’d imagined it to be. If it hadn’t been for Wepizi’s friendship, Juimei would have very little to stop him sliding back into depression. He wondered how he would manage once he had set himself adrift from Neime and Wepizi—the two anchors of his life. He had a suspicion he wasn’t really strong enough to manage on his own —and yet it felt time for him to move on. He kept all of this to himself—he’d inflicted his neuroses on people for long enough. Instead, he concentrated on keeping active, determined to enjoy the time he had left in Dizeindo. Neime and Wepizi were equally determined to help him do that, and help the Blessed enjoy their first winter in the town. As the snow deepened, the sleds were discussed, and a plan hatched to teach Giwade how to drive one, and for himself to learn how to manage with only one strong arm and leg. After two weeks of horrendously cold and snowy weather, when they were all shut indoors, the sun came out. The lure of the fine, crisp weather, the thick, perfect snow covering the landscape, was too much to resist. No one tried. Wepizi announced a holiday and arranged to take all the Blessed, Neime and Juimei outside the walls on doigs—even Nuveize and Laovei managed, though they had help from two soldiers and lep Tovoi, who was there, he said, to keep an eye on Jozin. Strangely, Jozin only delivered a single dirty look, and then grinned. The lad was coming on beautifully. Once they were outside the town, Wepizi hitched up the biggest of the three sleds, and invited Juimei and Giwade to join him. Neime solicitously tucked rugs around their legs. “All yours, tezrei,” he said cheerfully, stepping back and winking at Giwade, as the four doigs stamped their feet and snorted their dislike of having to stand still in the snow. “Ready?” Wepizi said, twisting around in the driver’s seat. “Yes, please,” Giwade said firmly. Juimei patted his arm, and nodded to Wepizi. That was all Wepizi needed. He cracked the whip, yelled a rather uncouth command, and then they were off, a little sluggishly, but then picked up speed. Snow flew past their ears as Wepizi tore off across the flat snow, clearly relishing the freedom as much as his passengers. It was the first time Juimei had seen him so uninhibited and it was marvellous to watch. Juimei held tightly onto his companion, and grinned like a fool at being able to travel fast for the first time in years. It was a wonderful, exhilarating day for all of them. Everyone got to ride in the sleds, and most tried their hand at the driving (with a lot of help from the soldiers), and though it was

bitterly cold, the excitement and exertion meant they stayed warm enough, and Wepizi made sure they all got back to the residence before anyone had a chance to get chilled. Juimei invited everyone to have something hot to eat and drink in the big reception room, where they sprawled on thick rugs or in big comfortable chairs. “We should do this again,” Jozin said, flush-faced and sparkling-eyed, grinning happily. “Sleds are fun.” “Also practical, groi,” Tovoi said sternly. “This was about you learning essential skills today, Jozin.” But then he tipped a sly wink at Wepizi—he did like to bait Jozin sometimes. Jozin didn’t rise to it at all. “But if I need to travel anywhere fast, I just fly,” he said, sounding puzzled at the idea he might have to use the sleds for anything mundane. “He’s got you there, Tovoi,” Wepizi said, grinning at his officer. “But it’s still a useful skill, and builds strength. Even though you don’t need it, it’ll help to keep you fit, and we ordinary mortals need to do that.” “Not even just the ordinary mortals,” Nuveize said. “I’m sadly out of shape.” “Then we should do it again, as and when it suits the tezrei,” Juimei declared. “But you shouldn’t have to wait until we’re all in a big group,” Neime said. “Jui, you could go out with Wepizi like you did in the summer. You should, to keep up your agility.” Wepizi shot Juimei a strange look then. “Ah...it’s probably safer if there’s a group. If something went wrong, you have more people to help.” “But if you had an accident, all you’d have to do would be to call for Nuveize to find Jozin,” Iome pointed out. Wepizi didn’t answer. He seemed rather embarrassed by the emphasis on this issue. It was Laovei who spoke up and covered his discomfiture. “You can’t call if both of you are hurt,” she said sadly. “Like me and Timinke.” Neime laid his hand on hers and squeezed it. “No, quite right,” Juimei said. “We’ll go in at least a small group, or not at all.” He smiled at Wepizi. “After all, some of us are getting a bit old to risk our bones.” There was a general chuckle at Wepizi’s expense—him being easily the oldest person in the room, except for Nuveize—and the man relaxed. But why did an excursion with just the two of them bother him now, when it had not before? Juimei didn’t know and didn’t dare ask because he didn’t want to cause another disturbance of Wepizi’s otherwise imperturbable calm. He tried to be on his best behaviour around him, and hoped whatever was bothering Wepizi, wasn’t Juimei himself. The winter deepened and the town shut down most activities as the river froze. Giwade decided he could cope with school but only every other day, so Juimei became his tutor—hardly an arduous duty, and the boy was an apt and pleasant pupil. It became usual for them and the other Blessed to congregate of an evening in the big reception room, while Juimei spoke to

Giwade about history and governance, law, and the economics of their vast, productive land. More often than not, one or more of Jozin’s soldier friends was there, and Wepizi too. It was like a second classroom in a way, only much more relaxed and enjoyable. Juimei thought back to his years as a recluse and knew he couldn’t go back to living like that again. The problem was, going back to Visiqe meant leaving all this behind. The tug of war within him never let up. But still—he was determined to go. Eventually. Perhaps...in the summer. A few months’ delay wouldn’t hurt. Yes. That would make it easier, and the travel better too. Though the town was now in its winter hibernation, there were rumblings of activity, and behind closed doors, politics were afoot. Mayor Gixiel very suddenly wasn’t mayor, in an unheralded and undiscussed resignation. Juimei received the formal notification in person from his successor, Frankel. “His honour has decided that for reasons of his health, he will retire to Nedriz and allow his son to run the mills,” Elder—now Mayor—Frankel explained. “Ah. What a loss for the town,” Juimei said with perfect insincerity. “When will you announce it, your honour?” “At the winter feast. I could see no reason not to go on with it, despite Gixiel’s stepping down, and it’s a convenient time to take the inaugural oath in front of the required audience.” “And you’ll be moving into the residence immediately, I take it?” Frankel bowed a little. “At his honour’s convenience. The feast can take place regardless. You’ll attend now, won’t you, your highness?” “I haven’t decided,” Juimei said, deliberately careless. “My health is ever uncertain, as you know. I find such things a strain.” “Yes, of course. Though I would be only too delighted to receive you,” Frankel said. Slimy bastard, Juimei thought. He vented at Wepizi that afternoon when he turned up to discuss some minor arrangements about the policing in the northern third sector. “Of course he’d be delighted to have royalty at his inauguration. I don’t want to sit there with the bloody elders watching every move I make and criticising me. I don’t like them any better than Gixiel. Winter feasts are supposed to be joyful, not political. I suppose you’re going,” he added grumpily. Wepizi shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. If you wish it not to be too political, I can send one of my subordinates along.” Juimei nearly agreed that he should, because it was all Frankel and his cronies deserved, but then thought about how Neime was looking forward to taking his beloved Laovei to this event, which he couldn’t do if Juimei didn’t go. “No...unless you’d rather not. And if you’re going, I can make myself sit through it. I refuse to make a speech though. I won’t bless the man’s incumbency. It’s not my job.” “No, of course not.”

“You don’t...mind if I go, do you?” Wepizi blinked. “Why should I?” “I just thought...perhaps you might feel you have to attend me or something if you do. You don’t have to do that, you know.” “No,” Wepizi said gruffly. “I know I don’t.” He shuffled a little and then said, “Ah...if we’re done, I recall I promised to call in on one of our men’s homes. His wife’s sick.” The excuse sounded a little too convenient, but he could hardly call the man a liar to his face. “No, please don’t let me detain you. Thank you for coming by.” Wepizi bowed and left. Juimei rubbed his forehead—what had he said? What had he not said? By Sephiz, it had been a lot easier when he was a misanthropic coward, hiding away from everyone. As in Visiqe, the winter feast was cause for much quiet excitement among the prospective guests. New clothes had to be made and adorned, hair cut, beards trimmed or shaved off, and shoes mended or polished. Juimei endured Neime’s flitting about on the arrangements up to a point, but then put his foot down. “No. Enough. Honestly, Neime, no one will give the slightest damn if I’m in a red jacket or the green. Go help your darling, if you’re so lacking in things to do.” “She shooed me away,” Neime said with a pout. “She’s got Nuveize and Iome helping her anyway. I’m not needed.” Juimei tried and failed not to smile at his page’s disconsolate air. Neime did love dressing people. “Well, they need their fun too. I wish I was like Wepizi. He can get away with his uniform regardless of circumstance, and he looks fine in it too.” “Yes, he does. He’s the only man I know who can carry that moustache off.” Juimei knew that was a dig at Mikinze, a slightly unfair one since Miki was more handsome (a little, at least) than Wepizi, even if his soul was infinitely darker. “Yes, I’ve got used to it. Hard to imagine him without it, really. I’ll miss it.” “Just the moustache?” Neime asked innocently. “No, not just the moustache,” he said, giving his friend a quelling look. “Run along, lad. Feast or no feast, we still have a district to run.” Neime obeyed. But Juimei didn’t follow his own advice. Instead, he sat down at his bedroom desk, and rested his chin on his hand. Strange how that moustache no longer reminded him of Miki in the least. Now when he thought of the thing, it was Wepizi who came to mind. In fact, he had to struggle to remember exactly what Miki looked like, and it wasn’t a struggle he was often inclined to make. He guessed he was finally over that heartbreak. Not that it mattered since he was unlikely to take another lover, so the state of his romantic feelings didn’t really come into it. Whatever those romantic feelings were.

Come the night of the feast, they all assembled in the main hall, and Juimei thought they made a most distinguished group. Neime was in severest black, brightened by gold brocade at collar and cuffs—he looked very regal, and his princess, in flowing cream and green, an elegant companion. With the bright look of love in her eyes, no one would pay attention to the crutch or what it meant, her false foot concealed by shoe and trousers. The others were smart as well—Wepizi, naturally, in best-uniform, his sword and buttons gleaming like mirrors, the moustache waxed to knife blade perfection. Giwade was grown up and solemn in brown, and Iome and Helinoa surprisingly pretty in matching outfits distinguished only by different coloured jackets. Jozin, his hair cut short in army fashion, and dressed in a set of Juimei’s own clothes, looked dashing, and bound to turn a few girlish heads that night. Even Kilinze looked quite innocent and tidy for a change, though his grin revealed suppressed excitement Juimei hoped wouldn’t lead him to do anything silly. None of them would have looked the least out of place at court—although they certainly formed the most unusual retinue in the whole of Andon. There was a brief spirited dispute among the Blessed about how they would all travel the short distance between the residence and the square. Kilinze wanted to go by sled, of course— he’d fallen in love with that means of travel, and would beg prettily for a ride from anyone he could. It had become a most effective bribe for good behaviour, but Juimei thought it hardly practical for all of them. Jozin said he would just take them all. “Boring,” Kilinze declared. “Joz, we fly all the time.” Wepizi, who’d been listening to the argument in polite, if amused, silence, grinned behind his hand. “Who’d ever have thought one could become bored by flying?” he whispered to Juimei. Neime clapped his hands decisively. “No, Kilinze, the sled is too much trouble for the stable master at night. Besides, it’s too damn cold. Jozin, please, you take charge.” “Spoken like a perfect little liaison,” Juimei murmured, but when Neime turned to him with a guilty look, he waved at him to calm down. “In all seriousness. But anyway, as governor, I decree that the dignity of my office demands flight. It’ll impress those bastards, anyway.” “Language, your highness. And in front of the children too,” Nuveize said. She looked quite splendid in an embroidered blue jacket and something elaborate and bejewelled stuck in her grey hair. The sarcastic tone was unchanged though, and Juimei merely quirked an eyebrow at her. As if she didn’t say worse and more often. “I’m hungry,” Kilinze whined. “If we have to go with boring old Joz, can we go now?” “You’ll stay behind, my lad,” Nuveize said, wagging her finger at him. “You behave tonight or no more parties for you. Ever. Right, your highness?” “Oh certainly. No more sled rides either. But be good, Kilinze and I’ll arrange those skating lessons you wanted.” The boy cheered and eagerly promised to behave himself. “But can’t we go now?”

There was no need for delay, and no more preparation wanted than to simply go outside and be lifted up as lightly as the falling snowflakes, carried silently over the rooftops of the darkened town, towards the over-bright presence of the mayor’s house. Even used as the townsfolk were to the actions of the Blessed, there was still a good bit of wide-eyed awe from the doorkeepers as Jozin brought them down to land on the carefully swept entrance to the house. The outer gear was shed and respectfully taken away, and shoes changed for indoor slippers. Then Juimei took Nuveize’s arm, Wepizi, young Iome’s and they processed in. There were over a hundred guests already present, and all bowed low as Juimei entered the grand foyer. Grand—palatial was the word. Every sconce and lamp holder was ablaze with candles, a huge chandelier hung from the high, ornate ceiling, and burnished metal and polished wood and tiles and mirrors were everywhere, catching the points of light and multiplying them like little suns. Guests in their best clothes and glittering gems stood like elaborate ornaments on the long stairs, or on a ground floor covered by expensive rugs. They held wine in crystal glasses that scintillated and reflected multicoloured light—everything he looked at, sparkled almost painfully bright. Juimei hadn’t been expecting anything like this. He’d never been inside this building, and had no idea how lavish it was. It predated Gixiel by a good forty years, so the former mayor could not be blamed for the excess, but Juimei thought someone along the line of succession had delusions of grandeur far exceeding the importance of the mayoral role. It far exceeded even the governor’s own magnificence. Perhaps a mayor in times past had had aspirations for the higher office. He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, not so many years later. He wasn’t there to judge conspicuous or unnecessary extravagance. He was here, he told himself firmly, to enjoy himself as just another guest, even if the new mayor, now bustling towards him in embroidered red silk that was utterly impractical for the time of year, looked revoltingly pleased at having enticed him into attending. “Ah, welcome, welcome, your highness, tezrei, all of you. Blessings upon all of you this night,” Frankel said, bowing with a flourish that would have been tittered over even at highest court for its extravagance. Juimei returned it with a somewhat less elaborate bow of his own. “Thank you, your honour. You know everyone, I believe.” “Yes, of course. Welcome, Nuveize,” he said, surprising Juimei with the personal address to his companion. “Perhaps his highness would allow me to...?” Juimei could only blink in shock as the man stepped up and offered his arm to her, which she graciously accepted. “What’s going on?” he demanded of Nuveize, now firmly in Frankel’s possessive clasp. “Hush. He thinks I’ll be his second wife and make him rich.”

“And will you?” “Perhaps. If you don’t offer first.” Juimei forced himself to smile since Frankel was looking at him. “You’re a dreadful woman, you know that?” “Yes, I really am. Come on, your arseness. You have to go in first, being nearly king.” He growled at her in his mind, but kept smiling, allowing Frankel to move him ahead of their party. The other guests had gone into the dining room, so all they had to do was allow his servants to formally announce his arrival, and then he stepped through the heavy doors to receive the welcome. The reception was almost overwhelming, even though he’d once more grown used to being cheered and welcomed by large gatherings. Somehow, it was so much louder and more intense and...bright. How the mayor, past or present, could afford this many damn candles, Juimei had no idea. He forced himself to stop thinking about expenses and to acknowledge the genuine enthusiasm of the guests—not all of whom were elders or senior townsfolk. He saw Wepizi’s leps, and some of the market traders, and there were even some older children here, dressed in the smartest clothes their families could procure for them, even with all that had happened that year. Juimei smiled and bowed and let the cheering wash over him. Even though he knew it was for the king he represented and not for himself, it was a bittersweet reminder of his glory days. The pain, however, was almost entirely gone. Frankel conducted him to the high table, along with Wepizi and the Blessed. Nuveize was seated at his left side—Juimei still had difficulty believing the elderly and none too prepossessing mayor was making a play for their spiky, albeit attractive Blessed. “Attractive? Why, your highness—are you proposing to propose?” He smiled sweetly at her, hoping there was someone looking his way she could use as eyes. “Not if you were the last person left on earth, dear. I like my prick right where it is—between my legs. You’d shear it off, you’re so sharp.” She put her hand over her breast as if deeply wounded. “So unkind. You’re only driving me into his arms, you know.” “He’s welcome to you. He can pay your bills then.” She pinged him, but only for form’s sake. He rubbed his head where she’d ‘got’ him, and Wepizi murmured, “Something amiss, your highness?” “I’ll tell you later. I think you might find it amusing.” Fruit wine was served in small, elegant glasses, and the health of his majesty and council solemnly toasted before the elders rose and approached the high table to conduct the official business of the evening. The inauguration oath itself was a simple matter, and only required Frankel to swear that he would serve the town as mayor honestly and completely while he was in office, and the elders to confirm his oath and accept him on behalf of the population, which they

did to much acclaim. Then, despite his earlier promise and because it was so obviously expected, Juimei made a short speech congratulating the mayor and thanking him for his welcome. As he sat down after the applause died, he muttered to Wepizi, “And that’s that.” “I’m sure it’s appreciated. I hate to sound like our young friend, but I’m hungry too. I hope they bring the food soon.” Wepizi got his wish, and they discovered Frankel was as generous in his hospitality as he was extravagant in his lighting. The range and volume of dishes was astonishing, especially considering they had only come off emergency status a bare month before. “This would horrify my mother,” Juimei muttered, bending as if to examine a particularly fascinating vegetable in his soup. “And she’s not exactly famous for reining in her tendency to overdo things.” “It’s only once a year,” Wepizi said, just as discreetly. “I see no harm in it, especially when things have been lean. His honour’s been generous to those who’ve suffered most, and he’s offered work and financial assistance to those who’ve lost livelihoods.” Juimei turned to him. “Frankel has? I never thought...ah—he’s currying favour?” Wepizi only shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he realises he’ll need these people and their abilities later, so he needs to help them now. He’s not as...rigid...as Mayor Gixiel.” “No.” Juimei looked at their new mayor with renewed interest. Certainly not a stupid man, and capable of forward thinking. Juimei could work with someone like that. Or his successor could. He forced his mind off that track, because it would make him gloomy and it was too happy an occasion for that. In fact, this was turning out not to be too painful an evening at all. The food was good, he was in his preferred company, Frankel didn’t expect him to contribute anything but his actual presence, and Kilinze was actually behaving. And he had to admit, it was incredibly amusing watching Frankel pay court to Nuveize, as if he had a hope in hell of winning her over. Wepizi finally noticed the activities to Juimei’s left. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” he asked, frowning politely. “Apparently. I’m trying not to think about it while I’ve got food in front of me. Ow.” Juimei glared at Nuveize—she smiled demurely back. “Nasty bitch.” “Language,” Wepizi said with a grin. “You can shut up. She never hits you.” “Perhaps I just never provoke it, your highness.” “No, she’s bedazzled by your moustache. It hypnotises people into believing you’re harmless.” Wepizi stroked it protectively. “But I am harmless. Mostly.” “Huh. Mostly, indeed. Sephiz’s beard, another course? I won’t eat for a week!”

But even Frankel’s largesse had its limits, and just when Juimei felt he would be violently ill if he had to force down another morsel, the food stopped coming, and a last round of drizu was served as the formal end of the repast. Once everyone had been served and had mugs in front of them, Frankel stood and signalled for silence. “My friends, thank you all for coming. I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal?” There were loud murmurings of approval and assent. “Good. Now— I have my first duty as your mayor to perform, and it turns out to be one of the happiest of all. I have a betrothal to announce.” “Surely not his own—not this fast,” Juimei muttered. Wepizi put his finger to his lips in reproach. The mayor was still speaking. “I ask the couple to stand and be recognised.” Juimei sat back in amazement as his page and his beloved pushed their chairs back, and stood up. “Neime?” Neime turned and grinned. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he whispered. “Surprise?” Juimei hissed. “I’ll surprise you, my lad—wait until we get back!” Wepizi nudged him. “Jui, shhh.” The mayor had turned to see what the disturbance was, smiled politely, then turned back to the crowd. “Neime and Laovei, both of Dizeindo, have asked me to make formal notice of their intention to wed in the new year. Any objections?” There was a massed shaking of heads, and many grins from the assembly. “Then their betrothal is herewith registered, and provided there are no objections within a month, you may marry at any time after that. Congratulations. I suggest you kiss your intended, young man. It’s considered good luck.” Neime gleefully obeyed as the guests applauded the sight of young love. Juimei was beside himself. “Did you know about this?” he growled at Wepizi. “Not in the least. I suspect the only other person who did, is sitting next to the mayor.” Juimei sent a glare Nuveize’s way. She looked horribly smug, but she often did, just to annoy him. As Neime sat down, Juimei turned to him. “I’ll wring your bloody neck! Why didn’t you tell me? Me, of all people!” “Don’t be cross, Jui,” Laovei said, looking a little upset. “We just wanted to give you a nice surprise. I’m sorry you’re not happy about it.” “Happy? I’m ecstatic! But you nearly gave me heart failure, the pair of you!” Neime grinned in relief. “Oh, sorry. We’d have asked you to announce it, but I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate doing that here, and getting betrothed at the winter feast is a bit of a tradition...uh....”

“Yes, it is, and don’t bring that up here,” Juimei said, not wanting to bring Miki’s name into it at such a time. “Well...congratulations. Both of you. But Neime, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you, I swear.” “Neime’s going to be spanked!” Kilinze cried with unholy glee. “Can we watch?” “Hush, brat,” Juimei said sternly, wagging his finger at the boy, before turning back to his friend. “Very well—it’s done now. Just don’t do it again.” “Don’t worry,” Neime said, taking his betrothed’s hand. “I’m not planning to get married more than once.” Something made Juimei turn, and he saw the tight smile on Wepizi’s face. He looked back at his page. “May you never have a reason to,” Juimei said solemnly. He lifted his mug of drizu. “To Neime and Laovei. May they be blessed and happy.” All those near them, in their party or not, lifted their mugs and toasted the young couple. Juimei felt just a little cheated—he’d have liked to have hosted a betrothal party for them himself, but anything more than this would seem anticlimactic. Neime was right of course—it was traditional, and perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing, to have it sprung on him. He was still cross though. Just a little bit. Though the meal was over and so were the official announcements, the night was still young, and people were settling in for a good time. There had been music all through the evening, quietly in the background, the musicians in the gallery above them, playing elegantly and with no small skill. Now, at some hidden signal, they began a sprightlier piece. This was all people needed to leave their chairs and move into the centre of the room. It was quite a lively dance, the kind of thing that encouraged much table thumping from the onlookers, heads bobbing with the infectious rhythm. After a bit, Jozin led Iome out and, imitating the couples near them, made a passable stab at following along. They were no worse than many on the floor, and it wasn’t about skill and grace anyway—it was about fun, and meeting people, and giggling at the mistakes. Juimei watched it all, feeling wistful and nostalgic. He loved this particular dance. He loved all dances, actually, slow or fast. Never again, though. He sighed and tried to just enjoy the sight for what it was. It was certainly very fine—there were some skilled dancers in this small town, and with partners as equally practiced, their movements assured and graceful. Fine silks and glittering gems swirled and fluttered as the couples bowed and twirled and handed each other from one to the next, the intricate manoeuvres of each person forming a beautiful whole, a living bouquet of colour. Laovei watched it too with sad eyes, as her friends twirl around the room, tall and handsome and confident in their new clothes. Neime kissed her cheek in comfort, but then leaned towards Juimei.

“I’ve got a surprise for her too,” he whispered. “What?” “Wait and see.” His page was developing a most irritating habit of secrecy, Juimei thought, as he wondered what on earth the lad was up to. The dance stopped and the partners all bowed to each other, a little out of breath, as they applauded the musicians. Almost as soon as the clapping died away, the music started again— this time, a slower tune, stately and regal. Even filtered through the folk instruments and parochial skill of the local musicians, Juimei recognised it at once. The Glory of Andon pavanne —the one his parents usually chose for their official dance together at court functions because it offered no chance of falling or tripping and injuring the majestic pride or arse. When danced by the court, it was quite a spectacle, and even here, in this little provincial town, the assembly was something to see. Neime stood, and to Juimei’s surprise, held his hand out to Laovei. She seemed equally shocked. “Neime? I can’t.” “Yes, you can, ‘Vei. Trust me.” Hesitantly, she stood, using her chair for support. He took her arm on her injured side, acting in place of a crutch, then led her slowly out around the tables. She looked petrified, but also proud. Neime was resolute, moving calmly and with assurance out onto the floor. They watched the pavanne for two sets, and then Neime confidently placed them with three other couples, the music carrying them forward. It wasn’t much more than organised walking—but it really was dancing, she really was doing it with everyone else, and with something like this, her limp made no difference to their progress, and wasn’t all that noticeable. Juimei felt stirred, quite emotional, watching his friend give this thoughtful, precious gift to the girl he loved. It marked something, this night. Now was the point where he had to move on, he knew. Neime was no longer his—she was his care now, and it was right he would focus on her. Juimei had to let him go, however much it hurt. But he was still so proud of the wonderful young man his page had become. The slow dance ended, and another began. Helinoa nudged Giwade. “Let’s try it, Giw.” The boy looked rather intimidated at the idea, but she wasn’t to be denied, so he let her drag him out. They weren’t the youngest dancers by any means. Children barely Kilinze’s age were in the long lines of couples too, all moving slowly and gracefully to the exquisite music. It reminded Juimei very painfully of court, and other things just as painful. He struggled to keep an amiable expression on his face, and reveal nothing of his true feelings.

So hard was he concentrating on concealing his emotions, and on watching the dancing, that he wasn’t really aware of his companions at all. He was rather startled when suddenly Wepizi pushed his chair back with a scrape and stood up, probably going to find some place to relieve himself, or perhaps just to get some fresh air. But Juimei was wrong—what Wepizi actually did was hold out his hand and bow. “Your highness, may I have the honour?” Bewildered, Juimei could only stare up at him like he’d been hit over the head with a hammer. “W...what?” “The dance. May I have the honour?” “You want...to dance with me? Here?” Wepizi nodded, his expression not giving the slightest thing away. “Is this some kind of a joke?” “No. It’s not a joke. But if you don’t want to, I apologise for the offence.” He bowed again. Juimei found it hard to believe this was serious—but though Wepizi loved jokes and had a healthy sense of humour, he wasn’t in the slightest bit cruel. This would be a very cruel joke. “Why?” he whispered. “Because....” Still bowing, he looked up, his eyes dark and wounded. “Because I need to.” If he thought about this at all, he’d never have the courage to do it. He put out his hand. Solemnly, Wepizi took it, and Juimei stood. He looked at his cane, then at Wepizi. “If I need that, I can’t do this.” “Trust me,” Wepizi said quietly. “Take my arm.” This is insane. But the man’s eyes compelled him, stripped away his objections, and made him worryingly reckless. Juimei allowed himself to be led from the table onto the floor, tried to ignore the ripple of surprise he heard from the dancers and onlookers, and looked only at his companion and his intent expression. Of course people made way, and of course the music slowed while they took position. But then it started up again, and Juimei could only do one of two things—follow Wepizi’s lead, or make an utter fool of himself. So he held tight to Wepizi’s arm, and concentrated on his feet, because thinking about anything else was too dangerous. Without Wepizi to support him, he would have fallen—not because of his weak leg, but because he was close to being overwhelmed by the music, the realisation that yes, he really was dancing, and that he really was the partner of the most handsome man in the room, a man with strong, kind hands and warm, kind eyes who moved with such grace and ease, covering his hesitancy without the slightest effort, and guiding him as politely as any young maiden, though of course they used the steps and moves for male partners. Juimei’s heart pounded with excitement, fear, surprise—he struggled not to show the least of it on his face. He was sure Wepizi must be able to feel him trembling.

He became lost in the music, the repeated movements, the motion of his body, graceful again after so many years, the way Wepizi mirrored every move, anticipating, shadowing, guarding, and all the while, his dark, kind eyes burned with some hidden emotion. It mesmerised and fascinated him, even frightened him a little, but not for all the gold in Andon would he have been able to tear himself away from Wepizi’s side. The other dancers glided about him—he barely noticed them except as extensions of the magic being made. Neime was astonished—he saw that much—but he didn’t care. For the first time in five years, his body felt under his control, and in perfect harmony with his desires. He’d forgotten how that felt. But it couldn’t last—the music ended, and there was polite applause, probably because of his participation. Wepizi bowed gravely to him. “Thank you, your highness. It was indeed an honour.” Juimei bowed back, just as formally, and allowed himself to be led off the floor, but then he grabbed Wepizi’s arm. “Was that just about giving me back something I’d lost?” “No.” Wepizi’s jaw worked as if he was upset, but his gaze was steady. “No, it wasn’t about that.” Juimei searched his face. There was something very deep and dark going on here. “We should talk.” “Yes, I suppose we should.” Wepizi took his arm and led him back to his seat in the courtliest manner, still giving no hint as to what was in his mind—but when he put his hand on the table, and Wepizi hesitantly covered it with his own, then Juimei knew. “Why now?” he said quietly, without turning to face his friend. “Why here?” “I don’t know,” Wepizi said. “I don’t even know if this is the right thing. I just knew I had to, because there might not be another chance.” Wepizi’s hand tightened. It felt ice-cold. Whatever had caused him to do this, it wasn’t something he found easy. It wasn’t easy for Juimei to accept it either. But like Wepizi, Juimei felt he had to. Music was played, dances danced, but he hardly noticed any of it. His world had narrowed to the cool, strong hand over his, so indiscreetly and undeniably on the table there between them. Wepizi sat so close that Juimei could feel he was trembling a little—but then so was he. “Let’s get out of here,” Juimei said finally, unable to stand it any more. “Nuveize, can you ask Jozin to take us back, and without any smart remarks?” “Not from me, your highness. It’s about bloody time you two acknowledged this.”

He refused to answer. He couldn’t talk about this with her, with anyone, until he had the remotest idea what this was. Wepizi didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but when Jozin came over and Juimei made a vacuous and mendacious request to be taken home because he felt overstrained, Wepizi rose and stood behind him. He was very glad he couldn’t see Wepizi’s face. Jozin wasn’t fooled for a moment, but in a rare show of tact, said nothing at all except to agree. They briefly made polite excuses to Frankel who was surprised at their early departure, but of course was anxious not to offend by saying anything—Juimei asked him not to announce it as it would disrupt the evening, and he wasn’t the host here. It was rarely given to royalty to move without attention, but he desperately needed to get out of here now without causing a fuss. They slipped out discreetly, collected their outer gear and wrapped up tightly, then Jozin flew them back to the residence, setting them on the steps, whisper quiet. “I’m going back. Iome’s having fun,” he announced after they were safely down. “You do that,” Juimei said. “Take your time—and thank you.” Jozin looked at him, then at Wepizi. “Good luck,” he said, then rose into the air without any ceremony or warning. Always such an astonishing sight. But Juimei had more important things to wonder over. He reached for Wepizi’s gloved hand. “Come inside,” he said, and Wepizi followed him without a word. Gimoz was waiting, and bowed before signalling to one of the footmen to take their outer gear. “Good evening, your highness, tezrei. Master Neime contacted me, your highness, and asked if I would prepare a room on the ground floor for him and Miss Laovei this evening.” Ah—well, it was only to be expected, and time it had happened too. “Thank you. The tezrei will be here tonight, Gimoz.” “Very good, your highness. Tezrei, I can have your uniform freshened and pressed, if you like.” Wepizi looked hunted. “Uh....” “Maybe later,” Juimei said hastily. Wepizi’s uniform was clearly the last thing on his mind, and he wanted them out of the public eye as quickly as he could. “This way, tezrei.” Once out of sight, he took Wepizi’s hand again. “People will talk,” Wepizi murmured, though he didn’t pull his hand away. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Juimei said wryly. “If you wanted to be discreet, I can think of better places to reveal your intentions than the mayor’s winter feast.” Wepizi didn’t reply. He seemed to be having second thoughts, and Juimei’s heart sank. Had it all been just a momentary madness? An impulse quickly regretted, to be got over with as soon as possible and confessed to the memory of his late wife? If Wepizi turned around now and told him it had all been a mistake, well...Juimei was ready for it. He’d suffered worse and survived.

Wepizi closed the door behind Juimei in the bedroom. “Would you like to...?” Juimei started to ask. He never finished. He found himself taken into a firm embrace, turned around so he looked up into Wepizi’s dark, kind eyes. “Very much,” Wepizi whispered, then bent slowly down towards him. Juimei could have pulled away—there was no compulsion, much hesitation, permission sought in every move, every moment. But he didn’t pull away, or shrink back. He lifted himself up a little and met the respectful kiss straight on, his hand snaking naturally around Wepizi’s neck to pull him closer, to tell him this was what he wanted, and yes, very much too. Wepizi was as hungry as he was, and eagerly they crushed against each other, needing to taste, to feel, to get closer, and to be welcomed. His body throbbed with too long suppressed passion, and Wepizi felt so damn hard and perfect against him, his mouth warm and clever, sweet from the drizu. But that blasted moustache! The hairs tickled, Juimei sneezed, and had to break off, rubbing his nose furiously and laughing. “By Sephiz, I’d forgotten what a nuisance they are. No...don’t...please, don’t go,” he begged as Wepizi seemed about to move away. He held his arm tightly. “It’s all right. It’s fine.” Wepizi cupped the back of his head, stared into his eyes. “Are you sure?” It wasn’t a question about moustaches. “No. Kiss me again.” Wepizi did, and even more gently, repressed emotion making him almost vibrate against Juimei’s body. He pulled Juimei close against him. “It’s been so damn long, and I have no idea if this is right. It feels right.” If he’d lied, if he’d pretended he’d known what he was doing, Juimei wouldn’t have trusted him. That Wepizi could admit to being as uncertain as Juimei felt himself, was a relief in a way. Even if nothing happened after this night, Wepizi had been honest with him, and Juimei had come to treasure honesty as a rare and precious thing. They held each other for long moments, Wepizi bending down to kiss him carefully from time to time, but mostly just holding him very tight in arms that were deceptively strong for all Wepizi’s lean build. Juimei had missed being held almost more than anything else. It would be hard to give it up again, but if he had to, he would. Just let him not regret this. Let Wepizi not regret this. He couldn’t bear that. “I should let you sit down.” Juimei gripped his shirt possessively. “No—I don’t want you to stop touching me.” “But that only leaves the bed—” “And this is a problem, tezrei?”

Wepizi didn’t move. “Too fast,” he murmured. “It’s too fast.” He looked down. “You said ‘talk’.” “If you keep holding me. But I can’t stand all night. Decision time, Wepizi.” “Then we lie down. To talk,” he added sternly. “Whatever you want,” Juimei agreed. Desires long banked and sternly denied had been suddenly roused once more from their dormancy, and if Wepizi let go of him now, Juimei felt he would probably scream with frustration. But he had to take it slow. Wepizi looked as if he might be easily spooked, and Juimei didn’t want that. He would be meek because it was all too fragile and new and whatever happened, he didn’t want to hurt Wepizi or lose his friendship. Or those marvellous, gentle hands on him. “I...uh...should change out of this,” Wepizi said, indicating his uniform. Reluctantly, Juimei released himself from Wepizi’s embrace. “We both should change. You know where everything is, I think.” He took refuge in brusqueness—or tried to. It was hard to be business-like when one’s words were greeted with tender kisses and burning looks that did nothing for his self-control. “If you want to take this slow, stop looking at me like that, because you’re making me think about things I’ve not considered in a very long time.” “You’re doing the same to me just by standing there.” Wepizi laughed but there was a melancholy sound to it. “Lema always said I was too impulsive.” The mention of his dead wife was better than ice water over Juimei’s arousal. “Let’s change,” he said, avoiding Wepizi’s looks and his eyes. He turned around, not sure he could face the sight of Wepizi’s naked body when all they were going to do was talk. He heard his companion shuffling quietly, the hiss of cloth against cloth, the clink of dress buttons knocking wood as his jacket was removed. Juimei stripped off quickly, throwing the carefully chosen clothes onto the chair to be dealt with later—they would need to be cleaned or whatever arcane things Neime liked to do to his best outfits before restoring them. He found it hard to care about such matters now. He found it hard to concentrate on much except the soft sounds behind him, and what they meant. When he heard the wardrobe door being opened, he gave it a couple of moments and turned. “Right, we should—” Wepizi was still nude. Nude, and fine, and unabashedly male. And making no effort to hide any of it, since he didn’t have the robe in his hands. Juimei’s mouth dried up, as did his coherent thoughts. “I....” He didn’t finish, because Wepizi stepped forward and put his hands on Juimei’s naked body. “I think...I want to talk...after....” His voice shook, his hands gripping Juimei’s arms tight. He tugged Juimei close to him, and now they were bare chest against bare, warm chest, Wepizi’s arousal hard against Juimei’s

stomach. Juimei reached up and cupped Wepizi’s face, pulled him down, and kissed him forcefully. As if that was all the permission Wepizi had been waiting for, he crushed Juimei to him, and plundered his lips, his fingers pressing into Juimei’s back possessively, needy, sweeping away any possible objections, overwhelming Juimei with pure sensation and desire. He found himself somehow transported across the room, though he didn’t remember walking, and his legs hit the bed. He fell back, Wepizi carefully not landing on top of him, but covering him anyway—like the day of the earthquake, he thought. The first earthquake, because this was surely another, and just as shocking and unprepared for. Wepizi’s hands were still over him, but then he couldn’t stop touching Wepizi either. “Covers,” Juimei murmured. When Wepizi seemed more intent on kissing him—which he didn’t mind, oh, not at all—he poked him in the ribs. “Covers. Cold. Winter. Frozen lover, bad idea.” Wepizi grinned. “Your highness, it is not freezing in here.” But he moved anyway, politely turned down the sheets and blankets, and invited Juimei to climb under them. Juimei felt a disobedient giggle rising up at Wepizi being so formal and polite, yet naked as a baby and sporting a most impressive...dress sword. He had to fight to stifle it, but it didn’t help when Wepizi stroked his moustache and waggled his eyebrows at him. A lover with a keen sense of the silly was terribly dangerous to his dignity. Wepizi turned the lamp down to a dull glow, then got into bed beside him. It was much warmer under the covers, and once Juimei was wrapped tightly in Wepizi’s arms, the urgency died a little for them both. Wepizi was a cuddler, and Juimei adored being held, and stroked, and gently kissed. He adored other things as well, but this was something he had got far too little of from Mikinze. Tenderness was precious, and didn’t lead so quickly to sore bottoms. Wepizi’s hands roved carefully but hungrily over Juimei’s body. Juimei allowed himself to explore that lean, almost too lean body, relishing the freedom to touch, revelling in being touched, being kissed with such gentle skill, and tickled by that ridiculous thing under Wepizi’s nose. Strange how quickly the art of dodging it had come back to him, and how much he didn’t mind it now, for all that he couldn’t help the echoes of Miki in the back of his mind. Wepizi had to be dealing with far more painful memories. Please, Sephiz, if you can do anything at all, don’t let him regret this. “You’ve put on more weight,” Wepizi murmured. “You’re looking very fine now, Jui.” The honest praise warmed him more than any garland he’d won on the ito field. “All your doing. How long, Wepizi? How long have you been thinking of this?” “Months, if I’m honest.” “But why now? Why not before?” Wepizi kissed him again, and held him closer. Juimei could feel his heart thudding against his own—how strange this sensation was after so long. How much missed.

“For a long time, I told myself I couldn’t do this.” Wepizi’s voice was a rumble echoing through Juimei’s body, deep and quiet. “Not just you, not anyone. That I could never feel anything for anyone again. But then I had to admit that was no longer true—that I could offer myself again, if I chose to. I still believed I shouldn’t. But tonight...looking at you, looking at Neime, I realised...I should. And there seemed no reason not to, anymore, except cowardice.” “I’m not even sure it’s legal. Isn’t it against some kind of regulations?” The moustache twitched as Wepizi smiled wryly. “I’m almost certain no regulations could have been framed for this. But it might make things awkward—for both of us.” Juimei twisted and moved up a little, so he could look right into Wepizi’s eyes. “If you want to stop, stop now. If you’re worried about the effect on your job and your career, I understand. Just don’t let me lose your friendship. Not for this. This is...benevolent god, this is wonderful but...I need your friendship.” Wepizi closed his eyes, then kissed Juimei’s forehead and mouth almost reverently. “I promise—that, you won’t lose.” “Then I don’t give a damn about the rest of it.” He didn’t know what Wepizi intended this evening. He was obviously aroused, obviously wanted him, but his stroking and caresses were more soothing than anything else, and if he wanted to take this slow, Juimei didn’t mind, not with the joy of being held, being touched—just being with someone. “Do you...want to do something?” Juimei asked, sliding his hand down intimately, invitingly. “Do you mind if we don’t? I...uh...would just like to be with you. Get used to it. I like this,” Wepizi added, sounded a little embarrassed at wanting such a simple pleasure. “So do I, and no, I don’t mind.” Juimei chuckled suddenly. “Nuveize will be listening.” “Yes,” Wepizi said, grinning back. “But then she can hear everyone in Dizeindo who might be having sex. She says she tends to try and ignore it.” “This, she won’t ignore. Meddling old bitch. Ow.” “What?” Wepizi looked at him in concern as Juimei rubbed the back of his head. “She’s listening all right.” “Run away, woman. You’ve done enough.” “One day you’ll thank me, you ungrateful princeling. I’ve told Neime you probably won’t want to be disturbed in the morning.” “I can organise this kind of thing on my own, madam. You just go and hold the mayor’s dignity for him.” She laughed at him, and then he sensed she’d gone. No doubt she would listen in from time to time. He’d have to get used to it.

“She means well,” Wepizi murmured. “What you’ve done for her family, for her, means a good deal. She would do anything for you, if you needed it.” “I appreciate that, but I don’t really want to talk about her. I don’t really want to talk at all. Can’t we just...enjoy this tonight?” “Yes, we can. Are you comfortable? I’m on your bad side.” Juimei laughed a little. “Not anymore, you’re not. Wepizi...no regrets. Please, just promise me that.” “Not from me. I promise.” Juimei wondered if that could really be true—whether if, in the morning, Wepizi would remember his wife and his grief, and think Juimei a poor replacement for either. But if he did, in the morning, Juimei would face it. For now, he would treasure this. He reached up, and felt for Wepizi’s moustache, stroking it a little. It was so huge, and yet he wasn’t a hairy man at all. Juimei had more hair on his chest than Wepizi. “What are you doing?” Wepizi asked, sounding amused. “Petting my playmate. He’s all messy.” “Ah, but that’s half the fun of sleeping with someone. I don’t let just anyone mess it up, you know.” “Ah...have you...?” “Hmmm?” Wepizi still sounded amused, though a little sleepy. “Have you let many...mess it up? Other men, I mean?” “One or two. I’m no innocent. Neither are you.” “And thank Sephiz for that.” Wepizi laughed, and squeezed him. “Yes, I will. Good night, my dear highness.” “Good night, Wepizi...don’t leave without saying goodbye, will you.” Wepizi gripped his chin gently, and looked into his eyes. “I’ll be here in the morning,” he said, voice solemn. “And for longer, if you wish it. Do you?” “One night—one day—at a time. I’ve learned not to make plans. Fate takes a misliking to them.” Wepizi stroked his face, and kissed him, accepting, not pressing for more. Juimei could think of far worse things than waking up with him every morning for the rest of his life, but the last time he thought he wanted that, he lost it all. He would never again make the mistake of assuming his future was safe. He was safe now, wanted now. That was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 30 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He had his nose buried in hair, and for once, it wasn’t his own—it was far too fine for that. Wepizi leaned back, remembered where he was, and smiled—it hadn’t been a dream, or a disaster. He’d been so afraid that Juimei would push him away, and that their friendship would be damaged by his recklessness. But Nuveize had been right, and so had his own observations— Juimei wanted him, cared for him, and had not pushed him away at all. Juimei was smiling in his sleep. Wepizi found that irresistible, and had to lay a gentle kiss on the side of his prince’s mouth. He’d already discovered how much he liked watching Juimei sleep, liked how the frown he wore much of the time, disappeared. Juimei had wanted to know when this had started. “Long ago,” he whispered. Probably even as far back as the earthquake, strange as it seemed. Lema, is this right? Can I really do this again, after you? He’d spent weeks, months, examining his heart, talking to his beloved, and being unable to convince himself that she would consider it a betrayal. His scruples were things he alone had the burden of—he couldn’t blame her for his hesitation. He’d decided some time ago this was something he wanted, but could never seem to find the courage or the moment to bring it up. If Neime hadn’t decided to surprise them all—and his betrothed—last night, Wepizi would still be dithering. He was still a little amazed at his own boldness, but the hardest part was over now. At least Juimei knew. It had pained Wepizi to have to conceal such an important thing from someone who had become such a good friend. And now...something more. “You look very worried.” Juimei yawned and turned over to him. “What’s wrong?” “Absolutely nothing,” he said, tugging Juimei closer to him to kiss him ‘good morning’. Juimei kissed very, very well. It spoke of a good deal of experience. Wepizi couldn’t claim that, not with men, but it wasn’t so very different. Juimei wasn’t complaining, not so far anyway. His hand roaming down Juimei’s body, discovered that one part of him at least was wide awake and demanding more than gentle kisses. Juimei ‘aahed’ as Wepizi put his hand on it. “Oh, please,” Juimei breathed, turning eagerly towards him, pushing into his grasp. “Please, Wepizi.” “No, wait.” He shifted, found Juimei’s free hand, and brought it and his own down. He wrapped them around the proof of their mutual need, then he stroked, Juimei letting him guide the exquisite

friction, while his mouth sought Wepizi’s again and demanded that his tongue be allowed to mimic the rhythm of their hands. Legs entwined. Breathing got faster, and their bodies tensed as they focussed everything on hands and lips, Juimei’s other hand digging painfully hard into Wepizi’s arm. Urgent gasps, whispered pleas, as the intensity built unbearably in bodies long deprived of this touch, this sensation. Juimei cried out a little as he came, moments before Wepizi did, hot and desperate, almost painful pleasure and need melted into a single rush of feeling and release. His body felt like a plucked wire, and his thoughts mere fragments, registering sensations without coherency—the scent of their passion, the heat of Juimei’s smooth skin against his own, the warm smell of their mingled breath. Slowly his body relaxed, his mind began to work again, and he realised Juimei held his arm like he was afraid he was going to fall off the bed. Wepizi, still a little breathless, kissed him, grinning. “You’ll leave bruises.” Juimei’s eyes were full of humour. “I don’t care.” He blinked, as if waking up from a dream. “Sephiz’s beard...it’s been a long time.” “Yes. For me too.” And now there was a mess, but Juimei had already thought of that. “Washcloth, on the basin. You may fetch it.” Wepizi grinned as he mock-bowed. “Very good, your highness.” His prince kissed him, and tapped his nose for his impertinence. “I can see the hierarchy of authority is to be firmly established from the start.” “I am a prince of the blood,” Juimei declared, clearly hiding an equally wide grin. “I do not clean up after sex.” “Hmmm. I think there’s probably a regulation about tezreis too, but for now, I’ll let it pass.” He climbed out of the bed, shivered a little even though the room was warm enough from the thermal vents, and found the cloth, which he wet and brought over to wipe Juimei down. “I forgot to tell people where I was going,” he said thoughtfully. “Wepizi, after that display last night, the whole of Dizeindo knew where you were going and what you were doing.” Wepizi had to ruefully admit this was so. “Not very circumspect, was I?” “No, not in the least. You and Neime must be brothers under the skin, I think. Come back to bed—I don’t want to get up yet.” Neither did Wepizi, and the bed was welcoming and warm, as was the man in it. Amazing how quickly they had learned the knack of lying together comfortably. “Neime looked so happy last night,” Wepizi said, remembering.

“He did. But I still want to spank him. Little bastard, surprising me like that.” Juimei sighed. “I need to do something for them. Setting them up in their own household is the very least I can do. I don’t suppose they’ll want to stay here if I leave.” “At least you’re saying ‘if’, not when.” Juimei found his hand. “That’s all I can say for now. I can’t promise ‘not at all’. I have my reasons. If I let this change my mind, I could regret it.” Wepizi’s heart contracted a little—would he lose this just as he had found the courage to seize it? “You might regret it if you don’t, but...I hope you will find another reason to decide against leaving.” “So do I,” Juimei said, snuggling close. Wepizi didn’t push it. He didn’t want a conflict this morning. They lay peacefully together, holding each other and kissing for an hour or so, but then bladders and stomachs and other vulgar bodily demands meant they had to stir themselves. One urgency dealt with, Juimei rang for their breakfast. Wepizi was about to put his uniform back on. Juimei forestalled him. “Wait—I have clothes you could wear. Could you not take this day as leave?” “Yes, of course I can. I just didn’t have anything else to put on.” Wepizi very rarely wore civilian clothing, because he was very rarely off duty and away from the barracks. It hadn’t always been that way. When Lema was alive, he’d dressed in mufti when he’d finished his shift, and they would slip out of the barracks and into the town like any other couple. He hadn’t had any reason to do that since she’d died. It was a jolt to realise that he might have to revive those habits for Juimei—not because he minded, just because he’d really thought he would never do so again. He mentioned none of this as he found a warm shirt and trousers that would do, and a jacket Juimei urged upon him. The outfit was a little short in the leg, loose across the shoulders, but otherwise fitted surprisingly well. “I need to get you out of uniform more often,” Juimei said, giving him an admiring once over. He himself had only pulled a robe on for now, but the room was more than warm enough. “There are a couple of ways to take that, your highness.” “Yes, I know,” Juimei said, leering at him with an arched eyebrow, and making Wepizi smile. “I’ll have someone send a message up to the barracks that you’ll be here today—unless you object?” “Not at all. No one will be doing very much, except envying me the company and the surroundings.” “Hmm, I doubt the former most highly.”

A knock at the door, and Gimoz came in, bowing. “Good morning,” Juimei said. “Breakfast for two—something hearty, if you please. Tea and drizu both.” “Very good, your highness. Master Neime is still abed.” Juimei smiled. “No doubt. Tell people to take it easy today. I’d declare it a holiday, except the house needs to be run, and I don’t suppose anyone would take any time off anyway.” “One or two might, your highness. I’ll take the liberty of suggesting they do, anyway. Tezrei, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll see to that.” With quiet efficiency, Gimoz scooped up Wepizi’s uniform and the clothes Juimei had been wearing the night before. “Is there anything else, your highness?” “Yes—have someone take a message to the barracks that the tezrei will be attending me today and won’t be returning until tomorrow. I...won’t be at work either today.” “No, your highness.” Then Gimoz suddenly smiled at Wepizi. “It’s good to rest and reflect from time to time, is it not?” “Yes, indeed, my friend. Thank you.” Gimoz bowed and withdrew. Juimei turned to Wepizi. “The staff approves, at least. Makes a change—Mikinze wasn’t very popular with my people.” “I wonder why,” Wepizi said dryly. Everything he’d heard about this count Juimei had been so devastatingly in love with, made him wonder what on earth Juimei had seen in him. But love very often didn’t take account of what was best for a person. He remembered he didn’t have to just stand and look at Juimei anymore. He could—and did —take him into his arms and lay his cheek against his lover’s. “Now we just have to face Nuveize and the rest of them.” “Oh, they’ll be delighted,” Juimei said with a wry expression. “But I need to convince Nuveize to leave Frankel alone. If he takes against her and the Blessed because of her games, it’ll make life difficult for them.” “She won’t do that,” Wepizi declared with perfect certainty. “She would never do anything to hurt them.” “Perhaps not, but Frankel looked quite besotted last night. I know she’s not interested in him.” “No, but I trust her to know what she’s doing. She’s older than either of us.” “And a damn sight meaner too,” Juimei said, rubbing his head thoughtfully again. “I feel like...we should do something today...something different. Something unprincely.” “Maybe a snowball fight?” Juimei gave him an old-fashioned look. “A sled ride?” “Just the two of us?”

Wepizi considered. “All right—if we don’t go far and they know where we’ll be. Kilinze will be jealous.” “The brat should be in school today, and if not, I’ll ask Jozin to keep him under control.” He squeezed Wepizi’s hands. “I do not want to spend the day worrying about Kilinze and what he might get up to.” Wepizi grinned. “Oh, the boy’s all right. He’s basically sound, considering all he’d been through. They all are. Nuveize and her friends did a good job, even though they had to struggle to do it. And now their Blessings are ours.” “Yes, they are.” Breakfast brought back memories, despite his determination to concentrate on the here and now, and he couldn’t hide the sadness that came on the back of those thoughts. “What’s wrong?” Juimei asked, reaching for his hand. “Nothing.” “Ah. Lema.” Wepizi straightened and looked at him in shock. “How did you know that?” “Because you always say it’s nothing when it’s about her. It’s not like I don’t know about her, or your feelings for her. I wish you trusted me enough not to hide your feelings about her.” Wepizi swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt you...and I find it hard to talk about. I don’t really know how to handle this part of it.” “Well, let’s try doing it together for a start,” Juimei said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t like lies, or things being hidden from me. I can handle pain, if it’s honest. You loved her—you still love her. If I can’t handle that, then that’s my problem. But don’t try and pretend you’re not thinking of her. It dishonours her and me both.” “I never meant to do that. I was just...remembering breakfasts like this, with her, in winter. And how she would...do as you are doing. Being affectionate...I’m making a dreadful mess of this,” Wepizi said, his voice gone husky. “I don’t mean to...I don’t want to...keep comparing you...because I’m not, I just....” Juimei got up, came to Wepizi’s side, and put his arm around his shoulder. Wepizi pressed his face against his stomach, ashamed at being so foolish. He’d thought about all this, but nothing had prepared him for the reality. “You can’t help comparing, remembering. I’m lucky—there’s almost no way in which you aren’t Mikinze’s superior.” “‘A-almost’?” “He was younger and very slightly better looking,” Juimei said, but with a slight smile to take any offence from his words. “But he was a bastard, and besides, he had a smaller moustache. Speaking of which...yours is very untidy.”

“My apologies,” Wepizi murmured, wiping at his eyes. “I’ll try to do better.” “Please—I do have standards, you know.” He made Wepizi look up with a gentle hand under his chin. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious of the love you shared with her. But I don’t think you’ll start throwing her in my face, and if you did...well, then...that’d be a problem. I can’t pretend it wouldn’t be. But I don’t think you will, and for the rest of it, I’ll have to accept her as you have to accept this,” he said, slapping his bad leg. “And the rest of my sordid history.” He combed his fingers gently through Wepizi’s hair and he leaned into the gentle touch. “I’d like to learn more about her though. She sounds as if she would be worth learning about. When you’re ready.” Wepizi reached up and trapped Juimei’s fingers. “A little more time. Just a little. I’m not trying to hide things...I just wasn’t expecting to feel like this.” “No. I did though. I thought you would run off last night.” “So did I.” Juimei grinned at him. “I’ll be honest with you, as much as I can. I vow that on my love for her.” “I believe you.” He squeezed him briefly, then let him go and returned to his seat. “Now, let’s eat, because I’d dearly love a sled ride.”

~~~~~~~~ It was a perfect day for it—bright, crisply cold, and still. It took them about an hour to organise things—warmer clothes for them both, doigs, and the sled, as well as provisions. Nuveize knew what they were up to, of course, and said she would let someone know if they came to grief—not, she added tartly, that there’d be much grieving over Juimei. He didn’t let her snappishness bother him—he was too used to it by now, and he suspected she used it to cover her loneliness and still fresh sorrow. He did have to wonder if she was remotely serious about Frankel—to Juimei’s eye, he was physically repellent, but that would hardly bother her, and the man’s manners were a vast improvement over those of his late, unlamented predecessor. Well, if she was serious, good luck to her. Juimei had more pressing concerns. Watching Wepizi drive a sled was a pleasure all in itself. He rode, sledded, even walked, with such grace that Juimei, once an athlete and still one in his heart, couldn’t help but admire and be a little jealous. But today, admiration outweighed envy, and he couldn’t resent anything which brought such a broad smile to the man’s face, or which made him look so kissably handsome. The mighty moustache had been tamed a little, thanks to a comb and water, but still threatened rebellion as Wepizi whipped the doigs into action and bellowed at them. Doig-driving was the only time he ever did anything remotely vulgar, and Juimei wondered what his mother

would make of his courtly manners and kind smile. Mother, he thought, would adore Wepizi. Most people did, and those who didn’t, were damn fools. As he had been, of course. They didn’t plan to go that far, just a few miles out of town where there was good flat racing ground, up towards the bridge. It was risky, as they both knew—but Juimei was sick of trying to be safe. He had faith in Wepizi’s skill and he had to trust to that. They flew over the crisp, perfect snow, Wepizi’s cheeks pink from the cold and the exertion, their breath coming out in huge plumes and merging with those from the doigs. Steam rose in the perfectly still air from vents in the ground, and above distant geysers, tall white pillars that looked like trapped clouds, punctuating the icy stillness of the landscape. As they raced along the road beside the frozen Huoinevol, a couple of hardy skaters, using the ice as a way to get quickly up to their nearby farm, recognised Juimei, and shouted out blessings. He acknowledged them with a wave and a smile—he was becoming quite well known as an individual these days. Of course, having an enormously tall, moustachioed tezrei at one’s side helped. He wasn’t often seen without Wepizi these days. He hoped that was going to continue. They stopped after an hour to drink cold razika-laced drizu, kept from freezing by Juimei storing the canteen inside his coat, and to eat some of Cook’s heavy cake, rich with dried fruit, nuts and more razika—marching food, delicious and warming. The sky was blue and completely clear, the air almost painfully dry and cold. “My Darshianese friends think I’m mad for liking this,” Wepizi said with a smile. “But there’s something about the rawness of it which speaks to me, the purity. Like the force of nature is distilled here.” “I never knew you to be a poet. But I agree—in small amounts. I love the summer too. Or I used to—doig-ito season, you see.” “Ah. Well, you can still enjoy watching the games, and if you felt like coming down to coach my people, they’d be honoured. The team from Nedriz is the one to beat, I’m told.” “So I hear. I also hear they fall apart if they face a real challenge, only they don’t face one very often.” Wepizi turned to him. “Then we should make sure they do,” he said with a grin. More chains to hold me down. But it was hard to care that it was happening. Not today. It was much too cold to linger, so they drove on up to the bridge. The work Jozin and the others had been doing was almost complete, only waiting for materials from Nedriz which should arrive in a month or so by overland transport. It was a sight to see, the mighty Huoinevol now stilled and silent between the huge struts of the bridge. The river at Visiqe never completely froze, so Juimei had only rarely seen this weirdly beautiful phenomenon. The sun on the snow was painful to look at—Wepizi had already tied cloth around his eyes, leaving only a slit, to help him see as he drove—though the landscape was breathtaking.

The mountains ahead of them, their sharp black peaks cloaked in white majesty, Mount Karvelino belching steam, loomed over a pristine countryside. A bird of prey wheeled lazily overhead—Juimei wondered what it could possibly find to eat at this time of year, since the smaller animals were all hiding in their burrows, and the larger ones had not had their young. Perhaps there was a hidden valley with a sheltered lake from which it could pluck fish. Or perhaps it too, just wanted to admire the beauty of this fierce, unforgiving land that was yet so fertile and rich. “The snow hides so many flaws. I wonder if you can see the crack in the land any more,” Juimei mused. “We should ask Jozin to take us up over it again,” Wepizi said. “You said you wanted to see where they’d been living.” “Yes, I do, and Laovei was saying how much she wanted to as well. She’s not homesick, but she hasn’t had a chance to say farewell. To be honest, that’s why I was so surprised at Neime—I thought she was nowhere near over Timinke. I hope they’re not rushing into things.” Wepizi shrugged. “Neime’s of age, and so is she. They have friends to support them and who can advise them. I think they’ll be fine.” Juimei was by no means so sure. Laovei was Neime’s first real love, and Juimei couldn’t help but be afraid of his heart being broken. But his thoughts on the subject were distracted by the very simple strategy of Wepizi pulling the cloth from his face, turning around, and pulling Juimei close to kiss him most thoroughly, his lips cold but still delightful, and his tongue a hot, insistent thing that brooked no refusal. It left Juimei breathless and hard. “Bastard, to do that here when I can do nothing about it.” “Ah—so sorry, your highness.” Wepizi looked anything but repentant, and since he immediately repeated the offence, Juimei wasn’t inclined to believe he was truly reformed. “You’re a dreadful man, you know that? I thought it the moment I met you. I looked at you and thought, he’s trouble.” Wepizi grinned. “And you were right. But you no longer hate my moustache.” “No, I’ve grown used to it. Though I can’t help but think that I’m being courted by two creatures, not one. Did you have it before you were married or did she encourage it?” He held his breath, wondering if the casual mention of his dead wife would set him off again, but Wepizi only shook his head. “No, I had it for a year or so before I met her. One of the leps in my first barracks had one. I thought it was very fine and wondered if I could grow one as well. Then I met Lema and she adored it. I threatened to shave it off a couple of times because it does take a lot of work, and she said she’d leave me if I did. She loved it more than me, you see.”

But his eyes were full of sad humour. Juimei had no doubt it had been a joke, and that Lema had adored Wepizi for himself, moustache or no. He reached up and stroked it gently. “I could get very fond of it myself,” he said. “But not more than I am of you.” Wepizi kissed his gloved fingers, stared deep into his eyes, his own full of some unnamed emotion. “That,” he said in an almost whisper, “would make me very happy.” “Something to aim for then,” Juimei said, trying for lightness in his tone, but only managing to sound grave instead. Perhaps because it was dawning on him that making Wepizi happy might just be a very worthy thing to do, and rewarding for its own sake. “For me, it’ll be something else,” Wepizi replied quietly, entwining his fingers through Juimei’s and kissing him again. “We should get back.” They could have stayed, camped out a little, but the air was too punishingly dry for the doigs to endure for long without melted water, and it was altogether too much trouble to build a fire to do that, when they’d not planned to be away long. They’d arranged to be back by lunch and they were, in time to find that Neime and Nuveize had arranged a meal for everyone in one of the smaller dining rooms. Neime had apparently been teased quite thoroughly all morning, and was looking for another target—Wepizi and Juimei were perfect. Juimei suffered all the silly comments and sly looks from Nuveize because there was no real harm in it. His friends—their friends—were happy for them as they were happy for Neime and Laovei. Laovei was blooming with the love and attention from Neime, and Neime was becoming a man before Juimei’s very eyes. “I suppose we had better find you two a home,” he said gruffly after the teasing had died down and the dishes had been cleared. Neime looked at his intended before answering. “Actually...would you mind if we stayed here for a bit?” “I’d miss everyone,” Laovei added shyly. “I’d like to stay for a while. May we?” Juimei reached over and patted her hand. “Of course, you can, my dear. But Neime, I’m sorry to say you’re sacked. Can’t have a married man as a page—it’s ridiculous.” Neime looked more upset about that than Juimei had anticipated, but he accepted the truth of Juimei’s words. “But you have to let me find a replacement and train them,” he insisted. “I want to know you’re being looked after.” Juimei glanced at Wepizi, smiling behind his hand, petting his moustache. “I think that might be taken care of already, lad. But as you wish. No hurry, after all.” There was no hurry about any of it, though Juimei’s life soon changed in small, though very significant ways. Wepizi continued to come up to the residence every other day or so, often for supper and for an evening of education and fun with Juimei’s house guests, only now he stayed the night, and very occasionally, the whole day after. When he wasn’t there, Neime attended to

Juimei in the evening and first thing in the morning, though he spent the night in his new room with Laovei. Juimei missed his company, but he had compensations for the loss. Just as Juimei thought life was settling down a little, there were more surprises. A month after the mayor’s winter feast, a young boy and girl turned up at the residence, announced they were Blessed, and asked if they could come and stay like the others. Yikil, a lad of fifteen, shared Nuveize’s talent, and Saimiri, who was only slightly older, had Jozin’s power. They were part of a larger group to the southwest, and had had a falling out with the leaders—the same leaders with whom Nuveize’s lover and others had had a disagreement more than thirty years earlier, and which had contributed to the splitting of the group. A week later, another boy of eighteen, Quezine—Blessed by fire as Kilinze was—arrived, also seeking sanctuary. “I’ll need a bigger residence if this keeps on,” Juimei said to Wepizi as they ate lunch together. “I can fit them all in now, but there are thirty more of them in that group—if even half of them turn up here, we’ll feel the pressure.” “Then have them build their own house. We can supply an engineer, and your architect surely could design one. It’ll give them a sense of ownership, help them feel settled.” “Perhaps.” It might also make them feel more isolated. Juimei needed time to talk to the Blessed, and find out what they really wanted. No one had done that before Wepizi had held out his hand to them. “Sooner or later, my father and the council will make a decree about them, I suppose. I can’t believe they’ll allow such important assets for our nation to be hidden away out here.” “I very much doubt his majesty will have much say in it, Jui. It’s not like we could force them to do the least thing they didn’t want to—and they all want to stay here. With you,” he said, then quietly added, taking his hand, “as do I.” Juimei squeezed his fingers. “Did you intend this to be your final posting? Truly? A man like you could even become Tezrei General, or even supreme commander.” “Me? No thanks—I like a quiet life.” They both grinned—this year had been anything but quiet. “I hadn’t thought about it. After Lema died, I drifted for a bit, and then the chance came to go on the Darshianese expedition. When this was offered, I couldn’t see any reason not to accept, and if I was asked to transfer again, I thought I’d have no reason not to go. Except...now I do. For a while.” His eyes held a question he hadn’t brought up before now, but Juimei knew he wanted it answered now. “I...suppose thoughts of leaving haven’t really been in my mind for some time. I’ve been thinking, though, that Neime would make a good replacement for me—I want to give him time to settle in. Maybe a year or so? Two? I can’t promise more, Wepizi. I dare not.” Wepizi lifted Juimei’s hand and kissed the finger tips. “I appreciate the honesty, and I understand. For now, I’m happy to be here with you. That’s enough.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s all we have.” He caressed Wepizi’s cheek in apology and thanks. “Now —let’s talk about the entries for the memorial, and how we should have this judged.” The rest of winter continued on in relative peace. The three new Blessed settled in, though not quite as easily as the first group. Nuveize and Juimei had to work hard to help them integrate, and overcome a good deal of wariness, not just at normals, but at other Blessed too. The group from which they had fled was a deeply unhappy one, and Nuveize and Jozin were plotting to do something about it. Juimei cautioned them not to act without talking to him, and they’d promised to do that—for once, without any sarcasm or derision. Reinforcements were on their way. Wepizi had heard from his Darshianese friends— Juimei’s father had been in contact with Lord Arman of Darshek and the discovery of the Andonese Blessed had been mentioned, as well as the earthquake. Lord Arman had offered assistance and advice over both, and Wepizi’s friends and some of the Darshianese Blessed were to descend on them in the spring. Kilinze was quite excited at the idea of meeting people like himself from Darshian. Juimei had to admit to no small curiosity himself on the subject. A design for the memorial was chosen by public poll, the winner being successful by a very large margin to Juimei’s relief. He’d have hated for the vote to be close and for it to be a bone of contention. Now all that remained was for the stonework to be carried out in workshops, and in the spring, for the memorial to be installed. The anniversary of the earthquake was considered a fitting date for its consecration. The winter slowly loosed its hold on the country and tentatively became spring. The slow, gentle affair between Juimei and Wepizi continued its even tenor. Wepizi wasn’t a man given to rages or sulks, and his occasional quiet moods were never long lasting, nor ever aimed at Juimei. After the turmoil and pain of the last few years, Juimei found his friendship and their relationship a balm on a rapidly healing wound. Wepizi made him feel whole and healthy and happy, and with him, Juimei wasn’t the prince, or the governor, or a cripple to be pitied. He could just be himself. He knew Wepizi would never understand just how precious that was, but it didn’t matter, because Juimei did. With the spring, they were both busier, and Wepizi spent less time up at the residence, though he made time to take Juimei out occasionally, and there was serious talk of a proper hunting party, which Juimei looked forward to, if it ever happened. Probably not this year, with the reconstruction. It was inevitable that there would be periods when Juimei wouldn’t see Wepizi at all—he was, after all, a very senior person in his own right, and with very nearly as many souls as Juimei had under his command. Once the soldiers returned from Nedriz on the newly thawed river—their number increased two fold by the planned additions to the Dizeindo establishment—work recommenced on the repairs and rebuilding. The town sprang back into life, and this time Juimei was in the thick of things. The townsfolk got used to seeing him in the market, at the school, the infirmary, or at the mills, seeing the production for himself. Of course they didn’t realise that, strictly speaking, he

didn’t need such visits to govern at all—but Wepizi and Neime had taught him there was more to governing than simply knowing the facts and figures. He had to know the people too—and they had to know him. His time of isolation was now well and truly over—and he regretted it not at all. Nuveize gave them a week’s warning of the impending arrival of the Darshianese—that she’d been chatting happily for days to a woman four hundred miles away astounded Juimei, but there was no doubt it was also a very handy feat. It allowed Wepizi and Juimei to plan a proper reception, and word quickly got around. By the day in mid-spring when their visitors were due to arrive, excitement ran high. Very few of the citizens of Dizeindo had ever met a Darshianese before, and one of them was by way of being almost noble in his own right, which meant not a damn thing in Darshian but did get some aspirational Andonese hearts fluttering. The mayor was planning at least two formal dinners, and Juimei suspected other invitations would be issued once the newcomers arrived. “Do these poor people have any idea what they’re getting into?” he asked Wepizi as he put on his best spring jacket. The plan was for Juimei to go down to the docks and meet them off the barge. Wepizi was part of a small but immensely dignified escort. The mayor and Neime would wait for them in the square. It would be, Juimei thought ruefully, a very long day. Wepizi carefully straightened Juimei’s collar, then kissed him. “I’ve yet to see anything that could rattle either of them, Jui. But I, ah...asked Nuveize not to give them too much warning. I want to see their reaction.” Juimei shook his head. “If this is how you treat your friends, Tezrei, what do you do to your enemies?” “I don’t know—I’ve never had any.” Juimei snorted in disbelief. “Nuveize says the boat’s about a mile from the dock.” “Then we shall proceed at a very dignified pace. After I get another kiss.” Wepizi smiled and granted his wish. “We mustn’t forget the important details. Shall we, your highness?” Nuveize and Jozin had insisted on coming, but for once that didn’t bother Juimei, though he’d decreed they would travel by normal means. It was an occasion which demanded the official carriage, sadly—though Juimei was far more practised getting on and off doigs now, he didn’t want to risk looking clumsy or falling in front of these people. Neime met them in the stable yard and said he would go to the square while they went to the docks. “Someone’s got the brat under lock and key, I sincerely hope,” Juimei said severely. “‘Vei’s sitting on him,” Neime said, smiling at the thought of his beloved. “And Giw and Hel will make him behave. You better go. Oh, this will be so exciting!”

Juimei rolled his eyes and waved the lad away, before signalling to the driver to move on. Wepizi rode beside the carriage—their escort met them at the gates, saluted smartly, then fell in behind them as they set off at walking pace, two empty carts from Juimei’s own stables being brought behind for their visitors. “I really don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Juimei said, aiming for grumpiness, but not quite succeeding. “They’re just people.” “Don’t lie to me, your highness—you’re just as excited as the rest of us,” Nuveize said. “This could be so wonderful. Do you think we could even go to Darshian, Jozin? Would you like that?” “Maybe. Depends on what this lot are like.” That was Jozin for you, Juimei thought. Always suspicious. Wepizi grinned at Juimei, clearly thinking the same thing. “I know a good many of these people, Jozin. I would have complete faith in them.” “Maybe.” It was Nuveize’s turn to grin at their young sceptic. The barge was just docking as they arrived, the sails being lowered and furled. Juimei waited patiently for the boat to be hauled in against the pier, and gangplanks laid. He wasn’t sure what to expect—the Darshianese were infamously informal and disrespectful of elaborate ceremony, but one of these people was the nephew of Lord Arman, and the Prij were much more respectful of the trappings of government. Wepizi had been rather uninformative on the subject but then, Juimei’s lover enjoyed surprising people. He was a dreadful prankster, though a harmless one. Sephiz alone knew what he would get up to if he had Jozin’s or Kilinze’s powers. Though it was interesting to speculate what it would be like to bed a Blessed. “You can shut up now, Nuveize. I won’t be bedding you,” he said, glaring at her as he noticed her smirk. “Wait until you get an offer, it’s only polite. She’s here!” Juimei turned and looked over to where a group of people were finally emerging from the barge. There were more still waiting on deck—the party was approximately fifty in number, so Juimei’s briefing notes said. They were all in uniform, which surprised him, since he knew they had civilians with them—ah, but now he looked again, he could see subtle differences. Some of the uniforms bore no insignias, and so were probably worn for convenience. The leader was a very tall, very broad man—a handsome one, with a smile that showed his white teeth, and a glossy dark braid down to his backside. At his side was a young, bearded Prijian man, somewhat shorter than his companion, but with the same impressive bearing—his pale-gold hair gleamed in the warm sunlight, almost too beautiful to be natural. This must be Lord Arman’s nephew. Was the Darshianese a captain? He recalled Wepizi saying that was the rank.

The leader approached and saluted Darshianese style, then bowed in their own to Wepizi. “Captain Romi of Darshian, requesting entry to Dizeindo, tezrei.” His accent was rather good. A little rough, clearly foreign, but better than his own pathetic Darshianese. “Willingly granted, captain. May I introduce the governor of Huoinevol district, his highness, Prince Juimei of Godiw?” Captain Romi bowed, as did all his companions—Juimei was impressed by the manners. “Greetings, your highness. I bear messages from their lordships in Darshek, and the best wishes of our nation to you, his majesty and council, and to your people.” He turned and indicated his companion. “This is Karik of Ai-Albon, who represents the academy in Darshek— he brings greetings from Master Kei and all the scholars there.” The young Prij bowed again as Juimei inclined his head. “You are most welcome, Captain, Karik. Ah...Nuveize...are your friends here?” The captain turned, and beckoned two people, a man and woman, to come forward. “Your highness, please allow me to introduce Neka and Jera of Darshek, two of our most senior Gifted.” These two were definitely not in any kind of uniform. Rather, they wore the loose, colourful shirts and trousers that both sexes apparently favoured in Darshian. They were perhaps close to fifty, the woman much greyer than Nuveize, but with a beautiful smile. The genial-looking man grinned as he spotted Jozin and waved to him. Jozin blinked. “Are you Jera?” “He doesn’t speak our tongue, Joz,” Nuveize said. “You’ll have to use mind-speech.” “How can he understand you if you talk in your head?” Juimei asked, confused by this. The two Darshianese waited politely. “Never mind—Nuveize, can you translate for me?” “No need, your highness, because I understand your thoughts,” the woman said, coming forward and bowing. “I’m Neka. Hello, Nuveize. Nice to see you at last.” Nuveize grinned. “Welcome, Neka, Jera. Jozin, where are your manners?” “Hello,” the lad said, not looking at all sure what to do. He turned to Juimei. “So...are we just going to sit here all day?” “Should have got Laovei to sit on you, my boy,” Juimei said, shaking his head. “Everyone, there’s a reception at the town square. Be so kind as to mount up, and we can get moving. Captain, there’ll be time enough for presentation of papers and such later. Then you can introduce me properly to people.” The captain bowed. “As you wish, your highness. Karik, you go with Jera and Neka—” “Actually, Romi, I suspect Nuveize would like them to ride up here,” Wepizi said. “You and Karik can use that cart.”

The two Darshianese Blessed were only too happy to climb into Juimei’s carriage, though it was a bit of a squeeze. The captain raised an eyebrow at the demotion. “I see—our importance is already settled. This is what happens, Karik,” he said, turning to his handsome companion. “You promote a man, and he forgets all about his friends. It goes to his head.” “Certainly went to yours,” the young Prij said, poking his friend—ah, yes, lover in fact. Juimei got the impression the teasing was something of a ritual. All three were grinning—he felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy over Wepizi’s easiness with these strangers, then he got over it. He’d get to know them too, he hoped. And if not...well, he’d have to learn to share. “Shall we?” Juimei asked, as everyone got into their respective vehicles. “Tezrei, lead the way, please.” After this was over, Wepizi’s friends would wring his neck, he suspected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 31 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You’re a complete and utter bastard, lep Wepizi,” Romi said, flinging himself onto Wepizi’s bed. He folded his arms behind his head and sent a glare Wepizi’s way. “Next time you set us up to give speeches to a crowd of two thousand people without warning, I’ll wring your bloody neck.” “I second that,” Karik said with feeling as he sat down in the only armchair in the room. “I’ll hold you down so he can do it.” Forced to sit on the less comfortable chair at his desk by his cranky companions, Wepizi bore the punishment without complaint, since he knew he deserved it. It had been too much fun to regret, though, and they’d risen magnificently to the challenge, as he knew they would. “I’m sorry, my friends,” he said insincerely. “But it was a marvellous occasion. It’s good to see you both again, and all my other friends. How are you?” Romi answered. “We’re fine—it’s you we’ve been worried about. I’m amazed to see so little damage. We had reports it was pretty bad.” “It was—you should have seen it just afterwards. Not an experience I want to repeat, and Sephiz willing, if there’s another quake, we won’t lose so many because we’ve rebuilt so well.” Karik glanced up at the ceiling, as if thinking the test of that statement might come at any moment. “I had a hell of a fight on my hands to be allowed to come on this trip, you know. My mother and father swore they’d die from worry, and my uncles weren’t thrilled either.” “Well, with Lord Meki dying and then Arman’s father passing away, they didn’t want to deal with more stress, Karik, you know that,” Romi said, glancing at his lover. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been bereaved,” Wepizi said. “Unexpected?” “Not really,” Karik said. “Both of them were pretty old. Arman took it hard—his Pa’s death was only two months ago. It helped having the boys, but I felt bad about leaving them. Still, if anyone was going to come up to this region, it was going to be our team, so I had to do it. And we wanted to help—looks like you don’t need it, though.” “Oh, we do, truly. You haven’t seen all of it, and we’ll be rebuilding for years. Your trip hasn’t been in vain, and I’m sure you’ll find enough in the Tuqul range to make it worth your while.” “Never doubted it,” Romi said. “So...that’s the prince, eh? Good-looking fellow.” “Very.” Wepizi wasn’t sure how Romi had received the news about his relationship. Wepizi hadn’t asked Nuveize to mention it nor conceal it, but it wasn’t a surprise that she’d told her new friends

about it. It had been Romi who’d urged Wepizi not to close his mind off to the chance of a new love, but he’d known Lema, and known how Wepizi had reacted. “We...uh...are just taking each day as it comes.” “I’m really happy for you, Wepizi,” Karik said firmly. “He just better be good enough for you, that’s all I can say.” “He is. It’s been a test for all of us, and he rang true. I’m content.” Romi gave him a penetrating look, but then smiled. “Then I’m happy for you too. Right—we better get people settled in, take a look around, then clean up and change for this reception. I wasn’t expecting any of this. I’ve not brought my best-uniform.” Wepizi dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. “It won’t matter—you’re exotic, you’re new, you could turn up in rags and people would just think it was your way. Mayor Frankel is much grander than even Jui...um, his highness.” “‘Jui’? That’s his pet name?” Karik asked. “You know what that means, don’t you?” “Yes. It’s a very good name for him.” “I’m sure it is. Why does he walk with a stick?” Karik was better qualified than most people to understand the medical details, but Wepizi didn’t think it appropriate to talk about Juimei’s history just now. “Long story, plenty of time to tell you,” he said firmly. “Come, let me show you around.” There was much to do, and neither Romi nor Karik nor any of their team were the kind of people to stand still if they could be moving. Wepizi spent the day with them, showing them the damage and the repairs, explaining how the engineers and craftspeople they’d brought from Darshian could be employed, and how the Blessed were helping them. The Darshianese were already fitting in, getting to know their local counterparts, and finding out how they could help the most. Romi and Karik wouldn’t be doing much in the town themselves, as they were here to train mostly. They’d brought a great many medical supplies and recent papers for the infirmary’s library, and Karik took an interest in the new infirmary that would, they hoped, finally be built this year. They planned to spend only a week or two before taking a much smaller team, with several Andonese for training purposes, up to the mountains. Jozin had asked to go—Romi was still thinking about it. Wepizi said it was up to the two of them, especially if Jera stayed behind to do what Jozin had been doing for them. Jozin’s powers were valuable, but he deserved a bit more life experience than he’d been able to have so far, and Romi would be good for him. Karik would be too, though in a very different way. Wepizi, Romi, Karik and the senior staff were expected at the residence before the reception, for the formal presentation of credentials. Jera and Neka were already up there, talking to the Blessed—they would be staying in the residence along with their other civilians, but the rest of

the team were spread around the barracks and the town. Romi and Karik would bunk with Wepizi. He probably wouldn’t be able to slip away to see Juimei while they were there—at least, not much. But it wasn’t for long, and he’d missed them a good deal. To have his lover and his friends with him at the same time, was a very rare treat, and Wepizi was determined to enjoy it. It meant squeezing into best-uniform again, and being gently teased by Karik for looking so impressive. “Dignity of my office, of course,” Wepizi said, grinning back at his friend. “Just because I spent eight months with my backside hanging out of my trousers, doesn’t mean I can forget that.” Romi came up and cuffed his lover lightly upside his head. “Leave the man alone, brat. Why don’t you go roust up Jou and the others? They’ve got fifteen minutes, or I’m going without them. You too.” “Yes, sir, lord master captain sir.” Karik’s hand slipped behind Romi’s back and gave his braid a tug, then he danced off before Romi could exact revenge. “Damn nuisance of a man,” Romi muttered, failing to hide the affection in his tone, before turning to Wepizi and giving him a penetrating look. “Now...you’ve got fifteen minutes. Tell me everything.” Wepizi motioned him to sit on the bed, while he took the chair. “It’ll take longer than that. But you mean Jui, yes?” “Yes. I mean...gods, Wepizi. I wanted you to find someone to share your life with, but a prince of Godiw? Isn’t that awkward?” “Yes, sometimes. On the other hand, I’d normally spend a lot of time with the governor, so that’s no different, and it’s hard to find people of equivalent rank to be open and easy with—this is a pretty small town. He’s a good man. Honest and honourable. If he was in Visiqe, he’d stand a good chance of being elected king by the council, and we’re lucky to have him here.” Romi nodded slowly. “But he’s not in Visiqe. I thought at the time it was strange they sent a prince out this far to be a governor—the only other case I’d heard of, the man was married and the succession already decided. Was there some kind of scandal that they had to get him out of the capital?” Though Wepizi knew his friend was only concerned for his sake, he bridled a little at the slight at his lover. “A scandal yes, but not of his making. He was seriously injured, crippled in fact, and thrown over by his lover, who, oddly enough, did that so he could marry the sister of an old friend of ours.” “Oh? Who’s that?” “Kizinke. It was all before the expedition, but I found it ironic he should have crossed my path in this way again.”

“Kizinke’s sister?” Romi whistled. “That’s some coincidence. So he left because of a broken heart?” “More or less, and you know what that’s like.” “But then he’ll go back one day. He’s only a young man—his father will want him back sometime, surely.” “Perhaps,” Wepizi said with a shrug, though it was something that bothered him more than he liked. “If that’s how it is, I’ll accept it. While he’s here, I’ll enjoy his love and friendship, and he’ll enjoy mine. I don’t want him to go, but I want the best for him. He’d say the same about me, if I got a promotion.” Romi narrowed his eyes. “Can you really settle for that? After Lema?” “Romi, my dear, kind friend—I never thought I’d find another person to care for. Sephiz in his wisdom took my darling from me, and he might do the same with Jui. If I cling too tight, I could lose him anyway. Please...don’t make me discontent. I’ve worked hard to find my peace with this.” Romi leaned over and placed a hand on Wepizi’s arm. “Sorry, I don’t mean to criticize either of you. We’ve just really been worried about you. It’s been a difficult few months.” Wepizi smiled at the kindness. “For all of us. I appreciate your concern, my friend. I hope getting to know him, will reassure you. I’ve missed you a good deal. You’ve been in my thoughts.” “And you in ours. If only we’d got word before we’d sailed back to Darshek. We’d have come here instead of returning. We must have only missed the news by about a week.” They’d have made a difference, no doubt, but there was no point bemoaning that now. “I know. We managed. Juimei organised things magnificently, and we’ve got good people. It’s a good town. I could be happy here, I think.” Romi gave him a wry look. “Don’t tell Karik that just yet—he’s still hoping you’ll be posted back to Tsikiugui so we’ll see you more often. I’m trying to get him used to the idea that this might be your final posting.” “It might be, it might not. Sephiz has been very good to me this year. It would be wrong to complain about what he’s not even brought to pass.” “True. Let’s go find them.” As they stood, Romi squeezed Wepizi’s arm and gave him an earnest look. “Wepizi, if things don’t go well, for whatever reason—you have always got a home you can come to in Darshian. Never be afraid to ask, however far away we are.” “I won’t. I swear it. And thank you.” Karik had their people ready in the yard, and despite the lack of warning about the event, they were all tidy, braids neatly groomed, fresh clothes dug out of their packs for the occasion. Seeing they were all there, Wepizi asked them to move out.

Strictly speaking, he should have gone by doig, but it was too much trouble, and really, it wasn’t as if he would impress any of his Darshianese friends, so he led them up through the town on foot, earning their group many curious looks from the good citizens of Dizeindo. Some of the children even wanted to tag along, before being sternly told by their mothers to mind their manners. The Darshianese smiled and waved to anyone showing the slightest interest, ambassadors for their nation even on this short walk. Karik got the most attention, his bright hair being even more of a novelty than the long braids. Wepizi doubted a Prij had ever set foot in this town before, and Karik was the fairest man even Wepizi had ever seen. Karik didn’t seem to mind all the curiosity—it was good to see how thoroughly he had recovered from the nastiness on the expedition. He walked proud and confidently beside Romi and Wepizi, regal as any prince. Wepizi wondered what their real prince had made of him—he hadn’t had the chance to ask yet. It was a little like old times, he thought wistfully, and good to see Jou and Netu again. Jou was married now, and had persuaded her husband to join Romi’s team—but marriage hadn’t changed her at all, and she was just as irreverent and assured as ever. Netu, now finished his healer training and promoted to lieutenant, was looking forward to meeting the town healers. Wepizi rather thought Iome would like him, and find him interesting. Karik had already mentioned the possibility of Iome coming to Darshek to train there. Diplomatically, it was tricky, but it wasn’t as tricky as sending her, say, to Kuprij. Juimei would deal with it. Fortunately, that kind of decision wasn’t part of Wepizi’s remit, and he was glad it wasn’t. He suspected the entire question of the freedom and travel of the Blessed would prove thorny over the coming years. At the residence, Neime waited for them at the steps. He warmly welcomed the Darshianese, but it seemed to Wepizi there was something in his manner that indicated a problem. He let Romi and the others go in ahead of him, then moved over to Neime. “What’s wrong?” Neime gave him a worried look. “It’s Jui,” he said quietly, glancing at their guests to see if they were being overheard. “Something in the mail bag. He won’t say, but I know it’s bad news.” “His family?” It couldn’t be his majesty or the queen—perhaps one of his brothers? But then Wepizi would have been told about that—something like that wasn’t private news—and there’d been nothing in the post. “I don’t know. We better go in.” This wasn’t the time or place to discuss this, and certainly not in front of a large group of invited guests. Wepizi smiled reassuringly at Romi, watching him with a puzzled frown. “Neime, please, lead the way,” Wepizi requested. The plan, as Wepizi knew it, was to greet everyone in the small dining room. Neime waited for the doors to be opened by the footmen, then announced in a loud voice, “Your highness, Captain Romi and his companions from Darshian.”

Juimei was seated in a grand, carved chair that wasn’t much short of a throne in magnificence—other chairs had been set out for their visitors. Jera and Neka were there, as well as all the other Blessed, and several of the senior household staff. To the side, refreshments lay on a table, and servants stood waiting to attend. Wepizi wondered if his friends realised this was the first formal reception of any kind that this residence had hosted at least since he’d been there and, he suspected, during Juimei’s entire posting. To look at the man, one would never guess he didn’t do this every day of the week. As they walked in, Juimei got carefully to his feet, and swept his hand to indicate they could sit where they chose. “Welcome once again, my friends. Captain, if you would be so kind? We can get the formalities over and then enjoy ourselves.” Romi walked up and bowed, handed over his credentials which were gravely examined. Then, as Wepizi looked on, all the members of the Darshianese party were personally introduced to the prince. There seemed to be nothing overt in Juimei’s manner that indicated he was upset— he was polite and friendly, apparently genuinely interested in each of his guests and very happy to be there. He made a charming little speech, thanking the Darshianese for coming to their assistance, and for the help that they would be giving, noting how this was not the first time Darshian had come to Andon’s aid, and speaking of the importance of the alliance between two peace-loving nations. It was sincere, to the point, and brief, which, for any soldier, was always the critical feature of any official speech. The brevity and sentiments were obviously appreciated. Drizu was served, and small glasses of razika, so the health of his majesty and council, and the Rulers of Darshek, could be toasted. Then things became informal, allowing everyone to mingle for a short time before they went to the official reception. Wepizi managed to get discreetly to Juimei’s side. “Very nice, Jui.” “Thank you.” Juimei sipped his razika distractedly, frowning. “Is something wrong? Neime thought something had come in the post.” “Yes. It has.” Juimei looked at Wepizi, all trace of cheerfulness gone. “Give me some time to think before I talk to you about it. Can you spend the night here?” “I...yes, of course.” Juimei wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. He would just explain to Romi and Karik, and they could have his bed. That got him a rather strained smile from his lover. “Thank you. Your friends are very charming. Neka is quite the nicest person I’ve met in a long time. Present company excepted,” he added with an ironic bow. “And they’re not hard on the eye, are they?” “Not at all. Romi’s a handsome fellow, no doubt. But not as handsome as you.”

Juimei rolled his eyes, but his smile this time was more genuine. “Oh, please. No idle flattery, it doesn’t suit you. Go enjoy yourself. We’ll leave in twenty minutes—Jera and Jozin are doing the honours. Oh look—Kilinze’s discovered Romi’s talent.” The two fire masters were indeed showing each other their light balls—Wepizi hoped they wouldn’t set the curtains on fire. Giwade, smiling to himself, was watching them toss the glowing flames back and forth to each other. Wepizi excused himself from the prince, who had other people claiming his attention, and came over to the youngster’s side. “Enjoying yourself, Giw?” “Yes, Wepizi. They’re all so nice. But what’s wrong with Juimei?” With his talent, there could be no secrets, so there was no point in lying to spare his feelings. “I don’t know, son. I’ll find out later.” “Good. I hope it’s nothing bad. I like being around him now—I like being around the two of you, because you glow.” Wepizi chuckled—he wished he could see the world as this boy did, just once. “But if he gets all sad and angry again, I’ll have to leave the residence, and I really love it here.” He laid a reassuring hand on Giwade’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that happening, son. Whatever’s bothering Jui, we’ll sort out. You’ll always have a home here, he’s promised that. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious.” “Don’t be so sure of that, Wepizi.” He jerked and nearly spilled his drink, before he turned and gave Nuveize a rueful look. “Can’t you...knock...or something? It’d make me seem less of a fool.” “Sorry. I just wanted to warn you. The thing that’s bothering Juimei, isn’t small. I’m worried. This could destroy all we’ve done here.” “But of course you can’t tell me what it is.” He glanced across the room at his lover, now talking to Jou and Neka. What could it be that could disrupt them at this time? “He wants to talk to me later.” “Good. We’re counting on you.” To do what? Wepizi sighed. There was no point in pressing her—she must be rattled to have revealed as much as she had. “Something wrong, Wepizi?” He turned to Karik, now staring at him in concern. “Possibly. But there’s nothing I can do about it just now. Come, my friend, tell me more about what’s been happening in Darshek, and how the expedition went. There’s so much to catch up on.” The little reception went on for half an hour or so, before Juimei suggested that they shouldn’t keep his honour waiting any longer. Though they could have walked, Jozin wanted to

take them—perhaps to impress his new friend—so they were flown effortlessly to the mayor’s residence where once again they were received in lavish fashion. It was an even larger gathering than the winter feast—it seemed like half the town had come to have another chance to gawk at the newcomers, and Wepizi had to wonder how Frankel could afford such a thing. Juimei had already said he refused to compete with the mayor in such matters—he said it would send the district broke in a year, and he had more important things to spend money on. Wepizi agreed, and wondered if his honour would beggar himself trying to maintain a grand front. He hoped the man would soon consider he’d done enough, and cut back. Wepizi’s best uniform was being used rather too often for his taste. With such a crowd, so many tables, and everyone crushed in together, there would be no dancing tonight. Wepizi rather regretted that since he’d been looking forward to taking the floor again with Juimei. At least he was seated next to him, with Romi and Karik on his other side, but there was no chance to talk. Even if they could have used Nuveize’s talent to allow a private conversation, Juimei made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss it here—whatever ‘it’ was. Wepizi tried not to fret and failed completely—if it worried Neime and Nuveize and Juimei himself, it couldn’t be a trivial thing. For all his private worries, it was a cheerful evening—all the Darshianese who were present, except for Neka and Jera, could speak Andonese, and were much in demand. Karik had to contend with the greatest curiosity, and several slightly unfortunate requests for information about the latest news from Kuprij, before he explained he had no more idea about that than they did. He treated the mistaken assumptions with grace and humour, and betrayed no annoyance, showing again the charm that had been such an asset on their expedition. Romi, too, used the opportunity to win new friends to the Darshianese side, and the mayor, now no longer under the delusion that Nuveize was worth wooing, decided to pick Romi’s brains about Darshian and the Rulers—a far more profitable exercise for his honour, if far less amusing for onlookers. Nuveize was hardly crushed by the lack of attention—she sat with all the other Blessed and spent most of the time talking to Neka. Wepizi wondered what it was like for the two women, the first meeting between the Blessed of their countries in centuries. They seemed as easy with each other as sisters—though that was possibly because of Neka’s gentle, open nature as much as their mutual talents. Jozin stared a good deal at Jera, but whether he was talking to him at the same time, Wepizi couldn’t tell. He couldn’t help but feel meeting others like themselves, could only be good for all the Blessed, but it was too early to know what effect it would have. Juimei, for once, wasn’t the most fêted guest, but his prince wouldn’t care about that, and probably welcomed a chance to enjoy himself without the pressure of his position. He held Wepizi’s hand most of the evening, something he rarely did in public. Juimei didn’t make many personal gestures where they could be scrutinised. It was a habit from living in the palace, no more. Normally it would have touched Wepizi that he was breaking that habit tonight—but the

possible reasons he was doing so, prevented Wepizi from enjoying the intimacy, or the evening, as much as he would have liked. The reception went on until nearly midnight, and Wepizi worried that Juimei would become fatigued and start to suffer for it. He himself would have gladly gone, especially as it would be his chance to find out what was bothering his lover. But they could hardly leave before the Darshianese, and the Darshianese were clearly being polite and allowing their host to dictate when the function would end. He was almost ready to breach protocol and suggest he and Juimei left anyway, when at long last Frankel stood up and the music stopped. He thanked everyone for coming, and Juimei getting to his feet at the end of his speech was the signal for the rest to do the same. Finally, they could leave without causing offence. Never had an evening dragged so long. They elected to walk back, since people were going in two directions. Wepizi said good night to his friends, apologised for not being there that evening, accepted a last worried look from Romi, then took Juimei’s arm for the short walk back to the residence. The Blessed went on ahead, Jozin giving Neime and Laovei a lift, the others walking arm in arm with their new friends, chatting. “Everyone likes your friends,” Juimei said quietly. “I’m sorry to have kept you from them.” “Don’t be. What’s this about?” But his lover shook his head. “Not here. Wait a bit.” Wepizi could only stamp on his impatience a little longer. At the residence, rather to his surprise, Juimei headed for his office, not his bedroom. He asked Wepizi to light two of the lamps, then sat at his desk. He opened a document wallet and extracted a letter from it. “I got this from my father today.” He held it up—Wepizi could see the broken royal seal, but not the details. “Bad news? Someone in the family?” Wepizi sat down too, and looked at his prince. “No, not bad news at all in fact. Apparently my efforts over the earthquake have not gone unnoticed, and my parents are most earnestly beseeching me to return to Visiqe and take up a position on the council.” Wepizi was staggered, at first unable to say anything in reaction. Of all the things he’d considered, even after the conversation with Romi, this hadn’t even been on the list. “But...what about the count?” Juimei grimaced in distaste. “He’s resigned, albeit temporarily. His father died and he’s gone back to manage the estates. His cronies are still around, and Mikinze will return in a year, but that’s one of the reasons my father would like me to return. They want to bolster the royal

faction, which of course is something I strongly support. Apart from that, they claim to miss me. I suppose they probably do.” “I’m sure they do,” Wepizi murmured, still stunned. “But of course you should go. It’s what you’ve wanted for a long time.” Juimei gave him an odd look, then slipped the letter back into the file. “There’s more than me to consider. Don’t you care about your own future with me at all?” “Of course I do! I just...don’t want to stand in your way.” “Foolish man! You’re supposed to be talking him out of it.” With an effort, he managed not to jump or betray his surprise. “Nuveize, stay out of this. It’s too important for games.” “It’s too important to us. Please, Wepizi.” “Go away, please. I mean it.” He forced himself to ignore her, but then to his relief he felt her leave his mind anyway. He couldn’t concentrate with her listening to his every word. Juimei was watching him. “Nuveize, yes?” “How did you guess?” “I’m familiar with the symptoms,” he said dryly. “But that brings me to the other point. My father also says the feeling is that the Blessed should go to Visiqe and submit to the will of the crown and council. He says that he wants them to feel free and happy, but they’re too important and dangerous to be allowed to run wild. If I go, then I can’t really claim that they’re under control and managed here.” “Your replacement could—” “You want me to go, don’t you. You’re trying to talk me into accepting.” The dull tone in his lover’s voice was like a knife in Wepizi’s heart. “No, I’m trying to talk to you and have you make this decision for the right reasons. I could be killed in an accident or have a heart attack or get sick like Lema did. If you turn this down for me, and something happens to me, then you’ll be here and not there.” Juimei clenched his fist. “Would you have made this argument if I’d been a woman? If I’d been Lema?” Wepizi winced. “Lema was not a prince of the blood. You’re not an ordinary person and you know it. You have a great destiny and it’s being offered to you as is only right.” “But what if I don’t want that destiny? What if I want to stay here with you?” Then do that, Wepizi wanted to say. Please, because I don’t want you to go. “You have to do what’s best for you.” “I would stay in a heartbeat if you asked,” Juimei said quietly.

“That’s why I can’t. It can’t be for me.” Juimei’s mouth tightened. “I see. I...need to think.” Wepizi reached across the desk so he could hold Juimei’s hand. “Please...don’t take this as an insult. If I cared for you less, I’d be more selfish. You know I want you to stay, but I won’t ask.” “Your honesty has always been the thing I’ve prized most about you,” Juimei said with a grim little smile. “Do you want to stay tonight? You have your friends.” “Who’ll be asleep and won’t miss me. I want to stay,” he said, his voice gone husky, trying to put the want and love he felt into his tone so Juimei could believe in them. “Then do. I won’t decide tonight.” Wepizi stood and urged Juimei to do the same, so he could come around his side of the desk and take him into his arms. “I wish...I could make this easier.” “I wish this had come a year ago. But then I might not have been ready for it. Ironic, don’t you think?” Wepizi laid his cheek on Juimei’s forehead. “It’s still good news, whatever you decide. You were so sure you couldn’t go back and have a role, and now you have a choice. People haven’t forgotten about you. I...won’t forget about you, whatever you decide.” Juimei’s hands twisted painfully tight in Wepizi’s sleeves. “I know. But that makes it harder, knowing I would hurt you.” “I can survive it. It wouldn’t be as bad as losing you to death. Knowing you were doing what you wanted, would be a comfort.” Juimei looked into his eyes. “I hate to ask this—but would you consider coming with me?” “Do you want me to?” “Like you...I dare not ask. Damn it, why did that letter come when I was just finding peace again?” Wepizi stroked his back gently. “Because challenges keep us alive. This isn’t the end of us, Jui. Or you.” He tilted Juimei’s face up and kissed it. “Can we make love?” “You know you don’t need to ask.” Juimei’s eyes held a request for another question he wished Wepizi would ask, but he just couldn’t. The very fact he had the power to change Juimei’s fate by making one simple request, meant he could not use it. But he wanted to, oh how he wanted to. Benevolent god, please—guide him to the right decision. Lema, love—you too. You know how much I want him, and I know you must want this to be. Help me—help him. Help us both be happy.

And then he took his lover to bed, hoping that Sephiz’s wisdom would work a miracle for him—and if not, he was determined to enjoy every moment left to him with Juimei. He’d learned the hard way never to take such time together for granted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 32 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Juimei slept badly, but it wasn’t the fault of his companion. In the early dawn light, he watched Wepizi sleep, reaching out a hand to gently brush the dark wavy hair, and even to very carefully caress his moustache, now tousled and unruly from their lovemaking and being slept on. Relaxed in sleep, his laughing eyes hidden, Wepizi was such a different man to look upon. One saw the sadness around his mouth, but also the lines from smiles, a life spent in hard work in the open air, and the powerful strength of will that kept him true to his faith and his own immutable morality. A lesser man would have begged him to stay—Juimei had seen the desire for it clear in his eyes—but Wepizi was almost too honourable for his own good. That made two of them, he thought with a quiet sigh. Mornings like this reminded him very painfully of Visiqe—not just lying in bed with Miki, but with other lovers, listening to the sounds of the palace coming into life, knowing that ahead of him was a full day of work or play. Not so different from here, now that Wepizi had coaxed him out of hiding, but he missed his family, he missed the rituals and ceremonies of court, and he so very much missed the influence, the knowledge he made a difference, and that what he did affected the whole of Andon, even in his small way. Out here, his decisions only affected the region, and his influence was less than the meanest courtier in the palace. But surely there was more to life than influence. There was happiness, there was...love...the real thing, not the foolish emotions that Mikinze had aroused in him. He knew Wepizi far better than he had ever known Mikinze, and he was dealing with a much more honest individual. Wepizi would never betray him. He might break his heart, but only for the greater good. Juimei accepted that as the price of loving a man of honour and courage. It meant he had to act with the same honour and courage, and if he truly could do more for Andon by returning to Visiqe, then he should go. It was what Wepizi would want, and it was what Juimei expected of himself. But it would hurt like hell to leave. He continued the languid stroking of his lover’s hair, sorrowfully noting the few strands of grey that Mikinze would have plucked out or dyed rather than allow anyone to see. Wepizi’s sole vanity was his moustache, but no one could consider him vain on the strength of it. It was beguilingly ridiculous, a flamboyance in an unassuming man that made one laugh at the silliness, that told a person here was a man not afraid to be mocked. Not afraid of anything, in fact—not princes in a temper, nor nature’s fury, nor the worst of human nature. Not even afraid of sorrow and loss, for all he knew the pain of it. Juimei envied him that fearlessness, and wanted to hold it close by him to bolster his own lack of courage. But it was a cowardly reason to stay—or to entice Wepizi to leave.

Wepizi opened his eyes, saw Juimei, then turned and kissed the fingers caressing his face. “Good morning.” He put his arm around Juimei and tugged him closer, so he could kiss his lips instead. “You couldn’t sleep?” Juimei shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to get up. Not yet.” He glanced at the window, noted, as Juimei knew already, that it was very early, and simply hugged Juimei a little tighter. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Let me just be with you.” Juimei was glad to let him, and to lay his cheek against Wepizi’s. “I don’t know what to do.” “Then wait until you do. His majesty won’t want an instant answer.” “No. I’ve been so close to happiness these last few months. More than I could ever have imagined possible. But I get homesick. I miss everyone. You know what that’s like, don’t you?” “Yes, I do,” he said quietly, kissing him again. “It’s a powerful reason to go back. You’ve had so much pain, you’re entitled to some joy.” Then come with me, he wanted to say, but in his heart, he was not at all sure Wepizi would be happy in Visiqe. Wepizi would be effective in Visiqe, which wasn’t the same thing. Wepizi was a man with a big spirit, a big vision. In Visiqe, those talents would be less valued than they were here in this isolated region, but they would be valued, and his Darshianese friends would surely have more excuses to come to the capital than this lonely town. Though his young Prijian friend, Karik, seemed to think there was much unexploited potential in this area, and had big ideas about what could be done here. He’d liked Karik and Romi. They were so unfettered in their imagination. They had courage too—no wonder they’d become Wepizi’s friends. They could have made love again, but this was better, being held, being together. So many mornings Juimei had woken alone. He’d often wanted to beg Neime to share his bed just to avoid the emptiness, but he’d refused to indulge that want. It was unfair on the lad to impose more of his emotional fragility than he already did. Wepizi kissed his forehead. “Is there anything I can do to help you get back to sleep? You look tired.” “No, but thank you. Will you be with your friends today?” “Yes, some of it. You could join us.” “No, you spend it with them. But bring them up here again—they really are charming fellows. Er...and that female officer, Jou.” “Yes.” Wepizi grinned. “Darshian’s secret weapon. I don’t think my old bones are up to sparring with her anymore, but I’ve asked her to give a few demonstration matches while they’re in town. You should watch. It’s impressive.” “No doubt. Not today, though. I need to think.”

“Yes, of course.” He took Juimei’s hand, held it between them, fingers lacing with Juimei’s, a sweet gesture that always made his heart stutter a little. “Is there anything I can do to make this easier?” “Certainly. Tell me to stay, or tell me to go. Or spontaneously decide you want to go to Visiqe without my having to ask you.” “Jui.” His eyes were regretful. “My only reason for going to Visiqe would be you. You know that.” “Quite,” Juimei said wryly. “So the real answer to your question is no. I have to do this on my own.” “The decision, yes, is yours. But you aren’t alone.” Not yet, Juimei thought. But he let Wepizi cuddle him and kiss him and pretend for a little while longer that nothing threatened this serenity. Then, reluctantly, he knew he had to get up—Wepizi had work to do, and so did he. Breakfast was brief, and then Wepizi dressed in the set of fatigues he kept at the residence these days. He caressed Juimei’s cheek, and kissed him tenderly. “Send word when you want me to come up?” “Of course. Enjoy your friends’ company.” “My other friends,” he said gallantly. “Don’t give yourself a headache over this. Ask Iome for a massage if you need it.” “No. I’ll ask you for one.” Wepizi smiled. “Of course.” After he left, Juimei sat and stared disconsolately at the remains of their meal. This had become such an important part of his life, his routine, after a few short months—strange to think that after a much shorter relationship, he’d been prepared to life-bond to Mikinze. His ability to judge other people and his feelings was not, from his record, something to boast about. He felt whatever he chose now could be a terrible mistake, and hurt the very people who meant the most to him. There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Giwade—Juimei realised with a guilty start he’d completely forgotten it was a day for the lad’s lessons. “Oh, Giw—I’m sorry, I’m not quite ready for you.” Giwade smiled. “Oh, well, then, if you like, I could go and work in my garden until you are.” “Ah—how’s that going?” The boy had befriended one of the gardeners, been given a plot of dirt to work with, and every so often, mentioned what he had planted, how the plants were growing and so on. He’d

never tried something of the kind before, and was fascinated by the simple processes of life. A garden, Juimei suspected, would be a very soothing environment for the lad with his talent. “Really well—I could show you.” Juimei started to refuse, but then thought spending some time with Giwade on something he loved wasn’t a bad idea. He wanted to talk to him anyway. “Why not? Ring the bell cord for me, and let me finish dressing. I won’t be long.” By the time he was dressed, and had put his outdoor shoes on, the dishes had been removed. “Shall we?” he said, laying his hand on Giwade’s shoulder. In the hall, they encountered Neime, clearly on his way to see Juimei. “Are you busy, Jui?” “Not really, but I know what you want to know, and all I can say is, please give me some time before I talk to you. Now don’t pout, Neime. Did Laovei enjoy herself last night?” That brought a smile to his face. “Oh yes. Now she wants to travel to Darshian and meet the others. Do you think she ever could?” “I can’t see any good reason why not, but that’s part of what I need to talk to you about. Give me until this afternoon. Tomorrow, at the latest. Was there anything else you needed me for?” “No. Nuveize was planning to take Neka and Jera and everyone else out to see a bit of the area. I thought I should go with them—do you mind?” “Not in the least. Take a couple of soldiers with you, just to be on the safe side, and don’t go far, but make a day of it. Building relations with the Darshianese is important. You have anything pressing on your desk?” “One or two things. I can deal with them before I go. Thank you.” He still looked concerned. “Are you sure I can’t help you with whatever it is?” “Yes, quite sure. Go show our visitors the wonders of Huoinevol.” “I will. Giw, are you going to come?” The boy shook his head. “No, I want to stay here today. I had too many people last night.” They’d got used to his need to rest after prolonged contact with large groups, particularly strangers, so his statement caused no surprise. “Then I’ll bring you back some umis nuts from the hills,” Neime said. “Don’t work too hard.” Giwade smiled and said he wouldn’t. Neime gave Juimei a last worried look, and went back inside the house. “If you need peace and quiet, are you sure you want me with you?” Juimei asked. “I’m used to you now,” he said simply. “What’s upsetting you? You’ve gone all funny,” he added gesturing vaguely with his hands, a reference to the aura that the boy could see around everyone and which apparently reflected every emotion in quite subtle detail.

Juimei found it the strangest of all the talents the Blessed had. For some reason, it bothered him less than Nuveize’s gift, but that might have more to do with Giwade’s gentle nature, which Juimei always found a soothing influence—though he couldn’t say he had the same soothing effect on the lad. “Well, it’s something I want to talk to you about. But let’s see the garden first.” Juimei did know there was more to the residence’s planting than the dull formal grounds to the front of the manor, but usually had little reason to visit the large kitchen garden which supplied so much of the produce they consumed, and which had been put to the test quite severely after the earthquake. Their gardeners had now dug even more beds, so they would always have an assured supply of vegetables and herbs even if there was another disaster—and any excess produced in calmer times could go to the poor. Juimei had readily agreed to that idea, and since the quality of their meals hadn’t changed for the worse, he assumed the gardens were as healthy as ever. He took no greater interest than that—he would happily read technical reports about crops and production, and make plans and suggestions for improving farms in the region, but ask him to name the flowers in his own garden, or how to strike a cutting, and he knew he’d be useless. It was, after all, why he employed gardeners to do such things for him. Giwade was different. Giwade wanted to know why flowers were all different shapes and colours, and why some grew on sandy soil, and others died. Giwade asked awkward questions about plant biology, and insects, and distribution, and all Juimei could do was helplessly point him at the well-provided library and give him free rein. He told the lad to write down any questions he simply could find no answers for, and Juimei would send them to the Visiqe academy for answers. Already there was a long list—Juimei had to wonder what on earth the scholars would make of it, but he meant to send it with the very next mail. Even if he had no idea about the knowledge required, the quest for it was something he did understand—and thoroughly approved of. The gardeners were hard at work, and bowed to Juimei as they came closer, smiling at Giwade who waved to them. “His highness wants to see my plants,” he proudly announced. “Well, so he should, lad,” Kefeinwe, the residence’s senior gardener said with a grin. “He’s done very fine with that plot, your highness. He’d do well in our profession.” “Now, that’s a thought. So where is this famous plot, Giw?” Kefeinwe came over to assist. Juimei suspected he wanted to show off his protégé, and who could blame him? “Just there, your highness,” he said, pointing to a tidily marked-off area at the far end of one of the large beds. “I’ll have a chair brought for you, shall I?” “Please. But don’t let me disturb you—I just wanted a chat with Giwade.” “Right you are, your highness. I’ll leave you in peace. Giw, you come and get those cuttings today—they’re ready to go in.”

“I will, I promise.” Kefeinwe grunted, whistled to one of his boys to fetch a stool for his highness, and once Juimei was comfortably seated, left them in peace, going off, secateurs in hand, to do something unspeakable to a fruit tree. Juimei thought it looked uncomfortably like vegetable castration, and decided he’d rather not watch. “So, what’s that?” he asked the lad, pointing to a vine with a yellow flower. “That’s the befe plant. Each flower will turn into a pod. They’re really easy to grow. And next it is the rivkinez root, which we plant to keep the pests off the befe, and because the root’s good for coughs.” Gravely, in the manner of one of Juimei’s old tutors, Giwade named all the plants, and their uses, and their pattern of growing, and the pests which attacked them. Juimei was simply astounded that a boy of not quite thirteen could hold all this in his head, and apparently understand how it all linked together. There was more to learn in this few square yards of dirt than the most complex doig-ito match—and though one could eat doigs, Juimei had to admit Giwade’s garden might be a tad more useful than an ito game. “Neka was telling us about her garden in Darshek, and the one at the academy there,” Giwade said rather wistfully. “She said they’ve got the biggest library too, and pictures of plants from all over Periter. I’d love to see it.” “What about the academy in Visiqe? They’ve got some pretty good books there too, or so I’m told.” “That’d be good too. But I don’t suppose I’ll see either of them.” “Giw, what if I told you that you could go to Visiqe? To live there, and maybe even study at the academy—learn all about the plants of Andon? Would you like that?” His eyes lit up. “Really? Then I could come back and make the best garden, couldn’t I.” “Er...well the idea would be to move everyone there. All the Blessed, I mean. And me too. My father, the king, thinks it would be a good idea if we did. What would you think of that?” Giwade stared a little, then without ceremony, sat down cross-legged on the grass next to his plot. “You mean, forever? Not to come back here?” “Yes, that’s right.” “Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’d be sad.” Juimei cocked his head. “Why? All your friends would be with you, and I’d be there, and Neime too—and you could go to the academy when you were a little older. You can grow plants in Visiqe, I’m almost certain.” Giwade shook his head, and distractedly poked at the soil with a stick. “No, I couldn’t stay there. Yuzin and Timinke and Gemeli and all the others are here and I couldn’t leave them.” “My dear boy, they’re dead. They don’t need you to sacrifice yourself to them.”

“They’re dead but they aren’t gone away. I see them sometimes.” “What?” Juimei jerked in astonishment. “You mean, you see their ghosts?” “No...it’s hard to explain...it’s not them but like...them inside...their spirit. What makes them them,” he said. “Their essence, you mean?” “Yes. Yuzin is usually with Nuveize, and Timinke watches Laovei. Gemeli comes and goes —I see him a lot. He’s the clearest—maybe because he was like me. I miss him the most, I think, but when I get sad, he comes and sits with me.” Benevolent god. “Uh...you don’t see someone with Wepizi, do you?” “Oh yes. A lovely lady. She feels so nice to me. When he’s sad, she comes to him. It’s his wife, I think.” “Oh.” Was the boy telling the truth? But of course he was—Giwade didn’t know how to lie. “Does she feel...annoyed at all?” Giwade shook his head. “No—just sad, when he’s sad. She’s not sad now.” “Oh...good. Uh—you know, perhaps you shouldn’t tell him about it. It might upset him. And the others.” The boy nodded. “I know—Nuveize already said not to. She couldn’t help knowing because of her talent, but she said most people wouldn’t be able to understand and it would make them sad. You won’t tell him, will you?” “Absolutely not.” Wepizi was beginning to get over his grief. If he thought his wife was still there, but untouchable, it would torment him into an early grave. Juimei hoped that was his reason for not telling him, at least—he refused to be jealous of an invisible, unknowable spirit. “But...if his wife came all this way with him, then surely your friends would come with you, Giw.” “I don’t know they would. I might not be able to feel them in a big place like Visiqe. I don’t think I could deal with so many people either.” He had a point, Juimei thought. “But the others—do you think they might be happier?” “I don’t know. Iome wants to be a healer, and Jozin wants to travel. Helinoa might think it was fun. Laovei will go wherever Neime goes. I don’t know what Yikil or Saimiri or Quezine would like. You should just ask them, Jui,” he said, with devastating simplicity. “I will. But what if the king said you had to go?” Giwade stared at him solemnly. “Would you make me?” The image of the boy being forced onto a boat or a cart by soldiers made him physically sick. “Not I. But it would still be something that you ought to do, if the king commanded it.” “I wouldn’t want to annoy the king—but I couldn’t do it. I like it here. If I can’t stay here, then I want to go back to the mountains. The king didn’t bother us up there, and we didn’t bother

him.” He looked down at his plants. “I guess I would have to leave this behind,” he said in a sad little voice, already resigned to losing his treasure. Juimei bent and put his hand on Giwade’s shoulder. “Now don’t get upset, lad. I’ll find an answer, somehow. Why don’t you collect your cuttings or whatever they are, and do what you have to do. I’ll watch. Maybe I’ll learn something from you.” “Are you sure you won’t make me go if I don’t want to?” “I promise that I won’t, son. I swear that on my mother’s life.” But whether someone else might have to, he couldn’t swear, and Giwade was more than bright enough to understand what he didn’t say. “Go get your plants,” he urged gently. “Leave the hard decisions to me—that’s my job.” Giwade climbed to his feet. “I trust you. You’ve been really good to us. I hope your father will listen to you.” “I hope so too.” Juimei wasn’t so sure. But he would have to try to convince his father that Giwade, at least, would be happier if left where he was. Giwade’s talent was one they could overlook. It wouldn’t be so simple to do that with someone as militarily useful as Jozin or Helinoa or Saimiri, or as logistically important as Nuveize or Yikil—or, frankly, as potentially dangerous as Kilinze and Quezine. It would be easy for his father and the council, bedazzled by their extraordinary powers, to forget the people behind the abilities. Juimei had to at least try and remind them they weren’t dealing with puppets, or they would be no better than the warlords who had been driven from Andon by Juimei’s own ancestors. It was easier, for now, to focus on the problem of the Blessed. But the other problem—that of his own future—was more troubling, more confusing. He wished he had Giwade’s certainty about his own wishes. He wished he could just follow Wepizi’s desires, or let someone else make the choice. It would make it all so much simpler. But then he should be used to this by now. When had things been simple—or easy—for him at any point in the last five years? He just had to get on with it—no one could do this but him now.

~~~~~~~~ Wepizi found his friends hard at work. Romi and Karik were training the soldiers who were to go with them up into the Tuqul range, but a few others who weren’t going, listened and learned anyway. There wasn’t a lot of slack to be taken up in the barracks—even with the increased establishment, they had more than enough work to do—but the Darshianese visit was too valuable and important not to benefit from, and a week with Romi and Karik would do many of their younger soldiers more good than a month of simple duties.

Romi waved as he walked across the training track. Wepizi came over—Karik didn’t interrupt the lecture he was giving, but he gave Wepizi a little smile as he continued to talk. Romi came to meet him, taking him off to the side so as not to interfere with the class. “I wondered if we’d see you this morning. Is everything all right?” “Ah—perhaps not. Have you got an hour or so to spare? I could do with talking to you.” Romi looked around, clearly made some rapid assessments, then nodded. “Until lunch, certainly.” He held his hand up, and Karik lifted his head. “Back at noon, can you hold things down here?” “Sure. But I need you after that.” “I’ll be back for lunch.” Karik nodded, and then Romi clapped Wepizi on the shoulder. “Come on, you can show me the new barracks.” That was a good idea—Wepizi needed to speak to a couple of people there, and they could walk past it and have some privacy. He felt a little guilty for stealing Romi’s time and his own, but his soul was too disturbed for him to concentrate, and Romi was such a good friend. He’d understand. Having told his people where he was off to, and how to find him, they fell into step, walking up the street and through the town gates. “You lost a lot of wall,” Romi noted. The new timber was pale and stark against the older trunks, very obvious. “Yes. I never thought we’d have it repaired by now—Kilinze cut six hundred trees down in a day with his talent, and Jozin flew them all in. You should have seen it—it was like a mountain flying over our heads.” He grinned wryly. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing that but I suppose you’re used to it.” Romi smiled. “I wouldn’t say that—our Gifted always have a surprise up their sleeves. Makes my little tricks seem pretty small stuff.” “Useful though.” “Yes. Wepizi, you didn’t drag me out here to talk about my gift. What’s wrong? It’s his highness, isn’t it? Something happened last night? Did you split up?” “No, no—at least...not yet.” Romi shot him a quick look. “Jui’s parents have written to ask him to come back to Visiqe. It’s a wonderful opportunity for him—they want him to become a councillor, take a real part in government. They also want the Blessed to go to Visiqe, live there under the control of the crown and council like they do in Darshek.” “And you?” Wepizi shrugged. “If he asks, I would go—but he won’t ask because he wants it to be my choice.” “So he’s definitely going to go.”

“He doesn’t know. He’s been so very homesick, but at the same time, he’s settling down here. He’d stay if I asked—but I can’t for the same reason he can’t.” “Gods, Wepizi. No wonder you look like shit. I’m sorry. What do you want to happen?” “I truly don’t know, my friend. I want to be with him. I want him to be happy. I want to do my job well. I want to be happy. I don’t know how to make all these things come to pass.” “Sounds like what I had to decide when Karik and I got together,” Romi said, nodding sympathetically. “But I had his uncles making it easy for me. Maybe the king will order you to Visiqe anyway.” “Unlikely. They have leps coming out of their ears in Visiqe and not that many who can do my job or want to. Unless I ask to transfer, or fail in some catastrophic way, I think I’ll be here for a very long time. Until I retire, if I wish it.” “Do you? Your family’s a long way away. So’s Lema,” he added quietly. Wepizi placed his hand over his heart. “No, Lema’s here and always will be. I miss my family, but they know what a soldier’s life is like. I can take long service leave every so often—I get more of that now with the promotion—but I accepted that separation when I joined the army. I suppose I could use my leave to travel to Visiqe, but....” “That’s a hell of a way to maintain a relationship,” Romi finished for him, with a little grimace. “I know. I guess the question is—how important is the relationship? Do you think it’d survive you moving to Visiqe, or him staying here? Does he make you happy?” “Yes, he does. But we’ve both been thinking this is something that could end very soon because he’d been talking of going back to Visiqe. Now it’s a reality...I don’t think I’m ready for it to end. But I can’t...bring myself to offer what I did for Lema.” “A life-bond? Why? Because of her? Would she disapprove of him? Or do you think it’s disloyal to her?” Wepizi distractedly returned the salute of two of his soldiers as they passed by. “I don’t know. Is it? I swore to love no other, and yet I do. I swore to marry no other....” “While she lived, Wepizi. While she lived.” “My vow was for life. My life. I never expected any of this, Romi,” he said, knowing he sounded slightly petulant. “I wasn’t looking for it at all.” Romi smiled. “Neither was I. I told you that this might happen—would you listen? Of course not.” “Thank you, my friend, for your kind support.” Romi chuckled. “I don’t think Lema would disapprove. I know she’d want me to be happy. But I still love her—I always will love her. I feel it’s wrong not to be able to give Jui everything of my heart.” “Has he asked for it? Has he asked for a life-bond? Maybe he understands.”

“How can he? He loves no other. He’s never been bereaved. He deserves more than I can give him. Maybe he should go to Visiqe—pressed together here, bonds form that would not in a larger group. Now what’s so amusing?” He stopped and glared at his grinning companion. “This isn’t a joke, my friend.” Romi laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s not and I’m not laughing at the situation. It’s just you sound like me. I had an almost identical conversation with Karik about why he and I were impossible. As you can see, it was tremendously successful.” Wepizi had to chuckle. “Oh yes, it certainly was. It’s not the same situation.” “No, but you’re forgetting that Juimei has a free choice. So do you. If he makes you happy, then be with him. The life-bond isn’t something you want, and he’s not asked for it—if he does, then you talk. You love him, and you love Lema too. He knows that. If he wants to be with you anyway, then that’s his decision. I knew Lema. I know the only thing she really wanted was for you to be happy and at peace. If Juimei gives you that, then you’re doing what she wants. You vowed to love her always—that’s not changed.” “If Karik died, could you love again?” “He’d be a hard act to follow,” Romi said, his eyes going a little distant at the thought of something so sad. “So was Lema. But yes. I’m not saying it’d be easy, or that I wouldn’t compare everyone I met to him, or that I wouldn’t grieve for a very long time. But if he died tomorrow, and later I met someone who I cared for as much as I care for him, I know he wouldn’t want me to be alone. If I thought he was the kind of person who would...I wouldn’t love him. Does that make sense?” “Yes. Yes it does.” Wepizi sighed. “But Juimei still has to make his decision.” “And will you go with him?” “I’d have to decide if it would do him more good if I did or did not. A soldier isn’t necessarily the best partner a prince of the blood could have.” Romi made an extremely vulgar noise. “Piss on that. Those fancy courtiers would look like utter milksops next to you, and you know it. They’d be ragingly jealous of Juimei having you in his bed.” “Perhaps,” Wepizi said, smiling at the idea. “His...former lover—the count—is going to return to the council. If Jui goes back, my support would make a difference. It won’t be easy for him—his disability makes it easy for people to attack and mock him. He still has very little armour against that.” “He has to decide to endure that on his own. He’s an adult, and would have his family there. You can’t be his protector—if he’s got an ounce of pride, he’d refuse to allow it anyway.” Wepizi had to acknowledge this was so. Juimei was a very proud man, and hated being dependent. Attempting to save him from the count of Wedeiloizui would do him no favours. “You’re right. I really thought this was all behind me, you know.”

“You of all people should know not to ever say never again, my friend. Is that the memorial?” “Yes. It was officially blessed last week. A very moving occasion.” They had walked past the new barracks, and were approaching the graveyard. The stone edifice raised to the memory of the earthquake victims stood new and bright, the granite as yet unweathered, the gold lettering and the bas relief still perfect and clear. In years to come, it would fade, as would the memories of the dead, and the pain their loss had caused. That was natural— but for now, the memorial served as a place where those who had lost loved ones could come and grieve in privacy and dignity. They came up to it now—flowers lay at the base, and what looked like a carving in wood made by a child. A gift, perhaps, to a beloved grandmother, or a lost sibling—they had buried sixteen children, including three infants and their mothers. Wepizi found himself telling Romi about each name listed on the memorial—many he’d never met, but had come to know through the love and sorrow of their families and friends, people who wanted to share the memories with others while they were still raw. He felt like some of these people were friends he had lost before he’d had a chance to know them. “It’s very beautiful. Very dignified. It’s a wonderful thing to have here, I think,” Romi said, deep respect in his tone. “It was Jui’s idea. A good one. He doesn’t want it just to be a place of sorrow, but a place of hope, and of celebration of the spirit of the town. I think it is already. Sometimes I come down here, and I see people just sitting by it, thinking, remembering. The children play around it, and look at the names and the carvings. It’s already become part of the town’s heart.” “The town’s become part of your heart, I think. You’ve really fitted in here, haven’t you?” Wepizi looked at him in slight surprise, not having thought about it that way before. “I suppose I have. I think I fit in better here than in Tsikiugui.” “Because it’s a fresh start. Lema never died here.” “Perhaps. There’s a good spirit here, though. I’m not saying everyone’s perfect, or that there aren’t bad or greedy people here—but the town came together after the earthquake in a way that really made me think Sephiz’s love was very strong here. I find that comforting.” Romi poked him in the chest. “Sephiz’s love is strong in you, if it is in anyone—and you make a place better by being here.” “You exaggerate, my friend.” “No, I don’t.” Romi walked up the steps to the base of the memorial and peered at the names. “‘Timinke’—that’s the Gifted boy who was killed?” “Yes. So sad—it was just a little excursion to give Laovei a treat because they’d been so miserable over the winter, and things had been hard for them all. The barn roof and wall

collapsed on them, caught them both unawares. If it hadn’t been so fast, his talent would have got them out.” “Even the most powerful Gift doesn’t make you immortal,” Romi said with a grimace. “This is probably the first public record of one of the Blessed in the whole of Andon, do you realise?” Wepizi nodded. “Jui’s not unaware of the importance. It makes a bond between the Blessed and the people of the town—that and the work they’ve done for us. If they have to leave, it will be painful for everyone. They’ve become part of the heart of the town too.” Romi rang his hand carefully down the gold inlaid list of names. “You know, Karik’s uncle Kei says we gifted have to make our own family and clan, because we can’t have children, and because we’ll always be separated from others because of our talent. I think that might be true for a lot of people—like you, like Juimei. There are all kinds of reasons we have to start something new and make it better than the alternative. I think that’s what you’ve done here, both of you. I think it’d be a damn shame if he threw that away just for glory and power.” “It’s his decision. I can’t say it would be a choice I’d like, but he needs the freedom to make it.’ Wepizi straightened up, looked at the position of the sun in the sky. “We should get back.” Romi nodded, but before they started to walk away, he came to attention and saluted the memorial. Wepizi did the same. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For honouring our people.” “The human spirit should be honoured,” Romi said. “We’re all people, whatever our gift or our nationality. The dead have no borders.” Romi was always such a sensible person to talk to. The conversation had done Wepizi good, and he definitely felt less fraught as he returned to his duties. But his thoughts were still at the other end of town, with his lover, wondering what conclusions Juimei was coming to, what decision he was preparing to make. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps he should go and make things easier for Juimei, tell him he would go to Visiqe—but he knew that was an insulting thing to propose, the kind of pity that made Juimei the angriest. No—he couldn’t do that. If they had to part, they had to part having acted with honour. But it made the waiting no easier. There was no word from his prince that day. Wepizi struggled to keep up a cheerful front as he spent time with his own soldiers and the Darshianese. Sitting around the stove that evening, drinking drizu with his people—normally something he enjoyed—was a real trial. He finally had to make an excuse to leave. Romi cast him a worried look, and would clearly have joined him at the slightest encouragement, but Wepizi gave him none. He needed to be with Juimei—but since he couldn’t have that, he needed to be alone. The town walls again offered him refuge. The view had changed since his first ascent in search of peace and quiet—now lights stretched out on both sides of the wall, probably more outside than in, since there were almost five hundred people living in the new barracks now.

They were slowly bringing people back into their homes, and moving soldiers out of tents and into proper shelter, but it would be months before the military buildings were used purely for that purpose. The distinction between army and civilian was always blurred anyway—so many of the soldiers were from the town, or married into it, their children going to the school, their spouses or lovers working in the town and the mills, or even on the nearby farms. There had never been a question of ‘them’ and ‘us’, and that had been important as they’d recovered. Wepizi much preferred it that way—one of the things about their northern expedition which had so troubled him had been the rank hostility towards the presence of the army. He understood the historical reasons for it, and knew the northern tribes were very different from those in the southeast, but it had been a blow to his honour and desire to serve all Andonese, to have his military status thrown in his face like that. He found his usual spot, and sat, his knees under his chin. He couldn’t see the lights of the residence from here, but it didn’t matter. He knew Juimei was there, and it comforted him. Pretty foolish, eh, my love? I hold you in my heart wherever I go, but I need him to be physically close. Would I stop loving him if he went away? Oh, Lema...how can I miss you so much, and still love him? I don’t understand it. But yet, was it so puzzling? Sephiz taught everyone that all should be done in love, and love should be borne toward all people. If it wasn’t possible to love more than one person at a time, then surely the benevolent god would not ask it. This relationship was different from what he’d had with his darling girl. He and Lema had planned children, they’d had friends with young families, they’d been part of the barracks community and just as ordinary as any other two young people in love. But with Juimei, they could never just be ‘ordinary’. It hadn’t been a heady exciting courtship, full of romance and delicate manoeuvring. With him, it was more like a slow burn, a gentle growth of a friendship where love was just the final act. It seemed right that they were where they were now—but until they’d got there, Wepizi hadn’t had it in his mind at all. Not like meeting Lema and falling head over heels with her almost from the start. Maybe it was different between men. Or maybe being older and more sensible made the difference. He simply didn’t know. Benevolent Sephiz, please—help me. Help Juimei make the choice that’s right, give me the strength to bear it if it goes the way I don’t want. I just want him to find his peace. I can accept his decision, if it makes him happy. But if he thought it was the wrong choice, for the wrong reason, he would argue, at the very least. That, he would have to do. Oh, Juimei. I bet this is giving you a headache, and yet you haven’t asked me to help. Are you afraid I’d try and change your mind? The prolonged silence couldn’t be good news, he thought, however optimistic he tried to be.

But at least if he could really not bear the suspense anymore, all he had to do was climb down off the wall, march up the street, and demand Juimei talk to him. If Juimei was in Visiqe, Wepizi wouldn’t be able to do that. Or touch him, or make love to him, or argue with him, or take him out for a ride, or teach him how to hunt again. Juimei wouldn’t be able to tease him about his moustache, or how skinny he was, or make jokes about the difference in their height. He wouldn’t be with him. And that, Wepizi realised, was simply not acceptable. He couldn’t, in good conscience, do anything to influence Juimei’s decision. But if he wasn’t to be an unspeakable coward, then he had to make a choice how to meet that decision, whatever it was. To do less wouldn’t be true to himself, and wouldn’t be fair to Juimei. I know this is right, Lema. Forgive me if it’s wrong to you. One day, I’ll see you again, and I hope you’ll understand. He sat up on the walls until he was cold and stiff, then returned to his room. Karik and Romi were already curled up together on their bedroll. As Wepizi quietly closed the door, he was a little startled at a glowing ball of light appearing near him, until he realised Romi had put up a fire sprite to help him see better than the dim lamp allowed. He undressed quickly and crept over to his bed, the fire sprite winking out of existence as soon as he was under the covers. He rolled over and looked down at the bedroll—Romi was watching him. “Are you all right?” Romi whispered. “Yes. I know what I’m going to do now. Talk tomorrow.” Romi gave a little grunt of agreement, then burrowed down under his blankets, tucking his nose in against Karik’s hair. That simple gesture made Wepizi feel rather wistful, and even more sure that his decision was the right one. He now had to wait for Juimei to make his own. It would be a long wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Home Ground: 33 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The message came at lunchtime to come up to the residence that evening for an informal meal, and rather to his surprise, Karik and Romi were invited too. It wasn’t what Wepizi had been expecting at all, but when he asked Nuveize for a clue, she was irritatingly close-mouthed about it. He suspected she was still offended by his shutting her out of his discussion with Juimei, but her petulance was badly timed. All the other Blessed were suspiciously unavailable too— including Jozin, on leave so he could spend time with the Darshianese newcomers. Wepizi was forced to resort to asking Tovoi to spar with him to work off his anxious frustration. It didn’t help as much as it might. As he got dressed and ready for supper, he found himself grooming and regrooming his moustache, and finally forced himself to stop in case he made it all fall out. Romi came in from his own wash, and found him grimacing at his little shaving mirror. “You need a drink,” Romi said, clapping his hand on Wepizi’s shoulder. “No alcohol in the barracks, you know that.” “Yes, but you still need a drink.” Romi sat on the bed. “You really have no idea what he’s decided?” “No. He might not have done so. This might just be a social event.” But that really wasn’t Juimei’s way of doing things. Romi didn’t think it was likely either. “You think he wants us there to support you?” “Possibly. If it makes you uncomfortable, then you don’t have to go.” “No. If it’s bad news, you need us. If it’s not, then you still need us. I’m going. Besides,” he said with a wry smile, “the food’s better than in the barracks.” “Hmmm, considering you nearly starved to death two years ago, captain, you’re damn picky over what you eat.” They turned and grinned at Karik, standing in the doorway. “Wepizi, maybe you should go up there first and pin him down about this. It seems unfair of him to make an announcement to all of us.” “I don’t know that he is, Karik. I trust him to respect my feelings. Now, are you ready?” “Yes—but your moustache looks a bit wonky.” Wepizi cursed, and had to spend another five minutes forcing the thing into shape. It was worse than a misbehaving doig some days, truly. Gimoz greeted them all cheerfully, as usual, and there was nothing in his manner to give a hint as to what Juimei was up to. “His highness is in the small dining room, tezrei. Please go in when you’re ready.”

Wepizi smiled politely, and turned to his companions. “Well, am I ready?” “Bit late now if you’re not,” Romi said. “We’re here, don’t forget that.” He nodded. This nervousness was really most unbecoming of his rank, and he decided he would not tolerate it. “Come on, then.” He found everyone already seated, which was odd, and the only three places empty at the round table—set, so he noticed, with some of the residence’s finest porcelain, as well as elegant flower arrangements—were next to Juimei himself. Neime and Laovei were on the other side of him—Neime smiled brightly at him, but did it mean he knew something? Wepizi couldn’t tell. The prince, looking particularly neatly turned out in the blue which suited his colouring so well, stood as Wepizi came in, and beckoned him over. “Sorry it took so long,” he murmured after politely greeting Karik and Romi. He took Wepizi’s hand, then kissed his cheek. “You look terrible.” “I didn’t sleep that well. We...couldn’t do this privately instead, could we?” “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Just sit, and I’ll explain.” Wepizi did so—Juimei kept holding his hand, but remained on his feet. He tapped a glass gently and the slight noise of conversation died. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming at such short notice, Romi, Karik —I wanted you to be here because I know how fond Wepizi is of you, and you of him, and I felt you should hear this all too. Anyone mind if I sit while I talk to you?” No one did, naturally, so he sat down, gave Wepizi a brief smile, then turned to everyone else. “Some of you know why I’ve got you all together here tonight. Only three of us—including me—know what I’m about to say. I’m sorry for the secrecy, but there have been a lot of things to consider. As some of you know, my father, the king, has asked me to return to Visiqe and become part of the council. He’s also asked me to instruct all of the Blessed to come to Visiqe and live there under the direct control of the crown and council. I’ve given the matter some thoughts, and I’ve decided that I will have to respectfully decline both requests.” “Jui!” Juimei turned and grinned at Wepizi, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t tell me you wanted to go to Visiqe after all.” “No! But—” Juimei raised his hand. “Let me explain. The reasons for not going to Visiqe myself are many. Some are personal,” he said, smiling at Wepizi, “but some are not. But having decided I’ll make my home here, I realised to do that, I had to make a stand against forcing our Blessed to do what none of you want to do. Not only because it will make you unhappy, but because I believe the policy is ill conceived. No disrespect to the Darshianese,” he said, nodding at Romi and past him and Karik, to Neka and Jera beside them, “but the way you keep your Gifted in pampered

idleness is not the best way of integrating them with the community. I know many of your people do serve and are active, but there’s no expectation, and I believe that takes away the sense your contribution is valuable.” “Not in all cases, your highness,” Neka corrected. “But in some. Lord Arman has been active in changing the policy, and our younger Gifted are now encouraged to become useful. We still need to protect people like us from normals though.” Juimei acknowledged her words with a bow of his head. “Yes, you do, and in that respect, my father’s wishes make sense. However, I am going to make an alternative proposal which ties in with my own personal plans. I am going to buy land here and build an estate—an estate I plan to entail upon Neime and Laovei, to be held in trust after my death and theirs for the Blessed to use as a place of sanctuary, a true home, close to this town, and intended to allow them to interact with the community while offering some protection from any threat.” He paused, and looked at them all as they absorbed this further news. “That home will be open to all of you, and any more of you who choose to emerge from hiding. I will travel to Visiqe and explain this to my father—I’ll tell him that in exchange for shelter and support, the Blessed have agreed to commit their services to the public good. You’ll have rights and you’ll have responsibilities, like all Andonese citizens. And you’ll have a home here as long as you need it, I swear on my honour. What you do with it, how you use it, is your choice. Is that acceptable to you all?” There was a general shout of ‘yes’ and many happy grins. Giwade smiled to himself as if quietly satisfied—Nuveize looked unbearably smug, as well she might. “You could have hinted, you know,” Wepizi said, reproaching her. “No, I couldn’t. Besides, this is much more fun.” Through his own bubbling relief and joy, he became aware Neime was looking at Juimei in shock. “You’re...giving me an estate?” the lad said, staring at his friend. “Yes,” Juimei said, smiling at Neime. “If you won’t let me live there, then I’ll just live here. Why, don’t you want one?” For an answer, Neime did what Wepizi had never once seen him do—and that was to throw his arms around his prince and hug him until he could hardly breathe. “Thank you. Benevolent god, thank you so much.” “Wait a minute, lad,” Juimei said, smiling as he pushed Neime back off him. “You have to work for the privilege. If I’m going back to Visiqe every so often as I plan to—with Jozin or Saimiri’s help—then I’ll need someone to stand in for me. Neime, you’ve just been promoted to deputy governor. In time, I hope you’ll be full governor, because I don’t intend to die in harness.” Neime opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again—looked at Wepizi, then at Laovei— then closed it again.

“Jui, I think you might have to fix him,” Wepizi said with a chuckle. “It’s not a joke, Neime. Is it not something you want?” “Me? G-governor?” “Of course you,” Juimei said, his mouth twitching a little in amusement. Neime’s astonishment was pretty funny, Wepizi had to agree. “Why not—you’re only a little younger than I was when I took the job on. In a couple of years, if it was necessary, you could step in. The region needs that assurance. Which is why,” Juimei said, turning to Wepizi, “you should be training your replacement, Tezrei. So I can whisk you off to Visiqe if I need a personal escort.” Wepizi bowed, still unable to wipe the grin off his face. “I’ll get onto that immediately, your highness. What if his majesty objects to this?” “Well...he could sack me. But he can’t take my money, and he can’t make the Blessed do what they don’t want to. If he asks you to try, which I very much doubt he will, and hope he won’t—you’ll have to decide if you would obey that order.” “No. For it would be against Sephiz’s laws which are above even the king and council. I’ll resign first.” “Don’t do that,” Juimei said gently. “Let’s try talking to him. Sorry to keep you in suspense. I only really made my mind up this morning, and I still had to make some arrangements. Are you angry?” Wepizi leaned forward and rested his forehead on Juimei’s, ignoring the fact that they weren’t in private, and the smirk he just knew was on Nuveize’s face. “No. Relieved. Proud of you. Are you sure you can give up Visiqe and all that?” “Yes. Because I want it less than I want you, and I believe my true destiny is to bring the Blessed into Andonese life and to restore the damage done not just by the warlords but by our own ignorance. Nuveize and Yikil will help us contact the other Blessed, and talk to them. Neka has been kind enough to give us some advice about that. I want it to be possible for our Blessed to travel to Darshian, for the Darshianese to travel here too and learn. I don’t have to be in Visiqe to make a difference, and...there are compensations. Many, many compensations.” Wepizi clasped his hand, then—not caring at all who was watching—kissed his prince long and deep right there in front of all of them. The burst of applause he got as the kiss ended, didn’t embarrass him at all. “Some people,” Juimei said, lifting his eyebrow, his eyes full of hilarity. “Yes. Jui, may I make a speech of my own?” “The floor’s yours, tezrei.” “Ours,” he corrected, tugging Juimei carefully to his feet, as he stood up himself. “Everyone? I don’t suppose I have to tell you how I feel about his highness.” “Not after that display,” Nuveize said tartly.

He gave her a little bow. “Thank you. Now Jui’s spoken, I can tell him and you what I’d planned to say to him whatever his decision had been—and even if he changes his mind, my own decision still stands. Jui,” he said, turning to his lover. “I will go where you go. If you return to Visiqe, I will be at your side. If you stay here, I’ll be here too as long as you want me to be. I make that vow here before our friends and before the benevolent god.” He turned to face everyone else. “Feel free to remind me of it.” Romi grinned like a fool. “Told you there was a reason for us being here. Your highness, I know we haven’t eaten, but is there any chance we could get a drink?” “Of course, captain. The reputation of the Darshianese appetite precedes you.” Juimei signalled to the footmen at the door, who went off presumably in search of something strong enough to suit Romi’s need to celebrate—and Wepizi’s own, though he was feeling fairly intoxicated just with happiness. Juimei turned to Wepizi again. “You made this possible. None of this would be happening if not for you.” “Or you. But it’s Sephiz who’s really behind this.” “I don’t know about Sephiz. I can’t know about him. But I know about you, and I believe in you.” He lifted Wepizi’s hand and kissed it. “And I’ll always honour the love you have for Lema. I’ll never demand to be placed before her. That I also promise.” There was no other response to that except to kiss him again, and hold him close, and be so very glad at this second chance for happiness. Even the theatrical coughs and loud comments around them, didn’t convince Wepizi this wasn’t the right thing to do. “I think they think we should go to my bedroom,” Juimei murmured. “I think they should enjoy the show,” Wepizi said, grinning. “I should warn you I intend to stay tonight. Just in case you had other plans.” “I’m almost certain the diary’s clear. You’d really have come to Visiqe?” “Yes. I’m just very glad not to have to.” “That seems to be the general feeling.” Juimei closed his eyes and rested contentedly against Wepizi, apparently indifferent to their audience or their surroundings. “Sephiz’s beard, I’m glad that’s all over. I’ll claim that massage from you later. If you want to rub any other bits of me while you’re there, feel free.” “Then and for the rest of my days, if you’ll have me.” Juimei looked up at him. “I won’t ask for a promise. But my home will be yours for as long as you want it.” “As my service will be yours.” An extra loud throat-clearing made Juimei turn. “That’s a very nasty cough, captain. Perhaps I should get a medic to look at it.”

“Er...I have a medic who can look at it,” Romi said straight-faced. “My own personal healer, in fact. Ow.” He rubbed his side where Karik had poked him less than gently. “I’d really like that drink, Wepizi.” “Karik, haven’t you taught him any manners yet?” “I try, but they never seem to stick,“ Karik said, scowling at his lover. “Congratulations, Wepizi—your highness. Ignore captain arse, he was raised by urs beasts.” “Was he?” Kilinze asked, piping up. “Was he really?” “Oh yes,” Wepizi said, straight-faced. “Wild ones too. He’ll tell you about it, if you ask nicely.” “Romi? Will you tell me? I’d like to ride an urs beast.” Wepizi laughed at the look on Romi’s face, and the innocent smile on Karik’s. He was pretty sure no one would help his rude friend out of this one any time soon. Under the cover created by Romi being assailed by an eager child, and Romi’s lover encouraging the interrogation, Juimei sat, and pulled Wepizi down beside him. “That was mean.” “Yes, it was. But it gets him off my back for five minutes, which is good because, guests or no guests, I want to kiss you again.” “Carry on, tezrei. You just carry on.” So he did.

The end