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“Kip Mdang!”
Cliopher pauses at the sound of his name. It’s spoken in a familiar accent that he rarely hears. He twists on heel. Despite the crowded marketplace, it’s easy to see the speaker.
No one else, after all, wears a grass-skirt in the middle of Solaara.
“Buru!” Cliopher cries, delighted. A wide empty space encircles his uncle, and Cliopher abandons the little tea-stall he’d been perusing to embrace him.
It’s the husband of his Buru Tovo. He looks well – no more or less old than Cliopher remembers, with deep, crackly lines along his weather-worn face. They touch heads in an Islander greeting, ignoring the murmurs and stares.
“Kip Mdang!” repeats his uncle. “Tovo sent me.”
“Did something happen?” No one from the Vangavaye-ve has ever visited Cliopher before; it’s always the other way around.
“Nothing new. But we’ve both been hearing lots of things. Your family complaining and complaining how long you’ve been gone, that you don’t have a wife yet…” Cliopher’s heart sinks. “And no one else has been learning from Tovo or Lazo, you know. Some people are saying you’ve lost your way.”
“I know,” says Cliopher, quiet. He's aware of what people say. How he’s disappointed all their expectations, the hope for a new tana.
Then his Buru reaches out to thwack his shoulder. “That’s not an accusation, nephew! Tovo’s worried about you. Wanted to make sure you’re alright, out here all alone. Ain’t natural to have anyone alone in your big family. So I’m just checking in.”
“Oh.” That makes Cliopher feel better, actually. It’s even touching; Tovo and his uncle move around the islands quite a lot, and they aren’t among Cliopher’s many correspondents.
But Cliopher sat at Tovo’s feet; he stayed with them both for years after his father died. Tovo’s husband was a strong influence in those years, too, often stealing him away from lessons whenever he decided Tovo was pushing too hard. Cliopher needed that, sometimes.
“Well? Show me this fancy Palace of yours,” his uncle says, looping their arms together. “What have you been working on?”
So they turn and walk through the streets, people clearing a path before them; by Solaaran standards his uncle is only half-dressed. Though his beautiful, ornate efela of flame-pearls is enough to be considered finery by Islander standards; Cliopher wonders if Tovo hunted them personally.
Cliopher can’t talk about all his work, but plenty of it is public knowledge. This past week he’s been dealing with two issues: a dispute between one of the less-important Jilkano royals and a stilted lover, hysterically threatening to secede and create a new province, and a new splintering of unions in Nijan. (There are always new unions in Nijan, though, so Cliopher’s less worried about that.)
Cliopher still remembers his own awe and delight upon seeing the Palace for the first time. But his mood dips again as they approach the gate. The guards at the front grip their spears tightly, rigid in front of the doors, and stare frozen at his uncle. Usually they step aside for Cliopher without asking, and there shouldn’t be any problem with him bringing a guest.
“Good morning, Ghisan, Midan,” greets Cliopher pointedly. They halt in front of the guards.
Midan tears his gaze away to look at Cliopher. “Sayo Mdang,” he says, voice high and terse. “Are you well?”
“Of course. May we enter?”
The guards look at his uncle again. “Are you – are you sure that’s a good idea?” Midan hedges. Cliopher bristles.
His Buru clicks his tongue. “What inhospitable people you stay with!” he cries. They both flinch. “Goodness; I am ready to be offended, I am indeed.”
“Quite,” says Cliopher, icy. “Zunidh has many different cultures and customs; I hope you do not mean to refuse permission just because of his attire?” There’s nothing in the official policies to warrant that.
Midan’s face twitches.
“...No, of course not,” says Ghisan, also in a weird, rigid voice. He nudges Midan, whispering something, and both slowly part to permit entrance.
“Thank you,” says Cliopher, annoyed. As they sweep past he makes a mental-note to speak with Ludvic. Absolutely inappropriate! “I’m sorry, Buru. Some Shaians can be quite judgmental.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” cackles his uncle. He peers around with gleaming eyes, taking in the reactions of those they pass.
And the reactions, Cliopher sees, are similarly dramatic. His anger rises as people gasp and scuttle out of the way for them; a sweeping silence drifts ahead, courtiers parting as though the Sun-on-Earth were passing through. It’s just a skirt! he thinks, incredulous.
By the time they reach Cliopher’s rooms he’s seriously considering pulling out his own ancient grass-skirts just to make a point. “Let me get you some coffee, Buru. How was your trip? Did you take the sea-train?”
“I did! A remarkable invention. Not as pleasant as a good ship, in my opinion, which you can steer with your own hands,” which is exactly the sentiment he’d expect from Buru Tovo’s husband. “But very convenient, certainly, for getting from one place to another! I might take a ship back, though. Getting lost along the way is half the fun of travel.”
Cliopher smiles, setting down two mugs at the table. “Well, if you have time for a side-trip I’d really recommend…”
He trails off at a rap on the door. Three quick taps, a pause, and then two long. A palace signal asking, are you safe? Please respond.
How odd. “Excuse me, Buru.”
Surely the guards weren’t that paranoid…
Cliopher is only a little startled to find Rhodin and Ludvic at his door; he is extremely startled to see his Radiancy looming behind, along with half a dozen more guardsman.
“My lord!” cries Cliopher, confusedly falling into the obeisances.
Ludvic and Rhodin block his lord from view, so Cliopher almost misses the gesture to rise. “Sayo Mdang. We heard you have a guest?”
...No.
Surely people didn’t get into such a panic about his Buru that someone informed his Radiancy?
“Yes, my lord, I - “
“May we come in?”
Ludvic and Rhodin gently push past a bewildered Cliopher, who is forced to follow to avoid touching his Radiancy.
Buru watches with an odd little smile as they all filter inside; the half-dozen Inner Guards behind his Radiancy make the place suddenly cramped.
“You’re so popular, Kip,” Buru croons. He leaps to his feet with an unusual spryness for his age, completely ignoring protocol to meet his Radiancy’s assessment; Cliopher doesn’t know what else he expected. “My, my. You would be my dear nephew’s lord?”
“Your nephew?” murmurs his Radiancy.
“This is my uncle, my lord,” says Cliopher.
“You’ve never mentioned him,” says the Sun-on-Earth. His golden eyes remain riveted; Cliopher’s uncle meets the gaze without a flinch. “Won’t you introduce me?”
Cliopher opens his mouth. Pauses.
Oh, no. This is mortifying. Cliopher lived with Tovo for so long… but his uncle’s husband was always mysterious, flitting in and out of events, and people always just refer to him as oh, Tovo’s husband…
“I, er, I’m quite sorry, I don’t think I recall,” says Cliopher, abashed.
His uncle throws back his head and cackles. “Quite alright! You have a lot of uncles, don’t you? ‘Buru’ does just fine. Well, Kip’s emperor, you may as well call me Kip’s Buru, too.”
Cliopher cannot imagine anything so bizarre. But his lord nods, slow and sober. “Very well, Buru. And what is your purpose here today?”
“Oh – just to check in on one of my favorite people. I claimed this one a long time ago.” Buru bares his teeth in a grin. His Radiancy folds his arms into his sleeves, face impossibly serene. “Going to see what he’s been doing here, I think. How he measures up.”
“Indeed? A test?”
“Hmm,” says Buru. “A test of someone.”
A strange silence falls.
Cliopher looks between them, bewildered and a little worried. That’s certainly not how Buru framed things in the market. “Excuse me, my lord,” he says at last. “But may I ask why you’re… may I ask if you have a purpose for visiting?”
“Hmmm.” His Radiancy looks around the small quarters. “I didn’t realize you lived so far out, Cliopher… but, it no longer matters; you must leave.”
“My lord?”
“We’ve just been informed of renovations in this area,” says his lord blandly. The guards are blank-faced. “Emergency renovations. So, you’ll both need to stay in temporary lodgings in the Ystharian wing.”
Oh. Well, that will be closer to the Imperial Apartments, at least. “Very we- “
“Also,” his lord adds, “I’m afraid you will need to share the suite with a few others. Guardsmen, mostly.”
This confuses Cliopher. “That seems – inefficient?” There are plenty of free rooms in the Palace of Stars.
“Due to the – suddenness of the renovations, we haven’t had time to magically ward the new rooms,” says his lord. “And your work is quite confidential, so the extra security doesn’t hurt.” His Radiancy glances at Ludvic, who salutes and departs. “Now! Perhaps once you and your – uncle – are settled, you might have a moment to speak with me, Sayo Mdang?”
The Lord of Rising Stars does not ask for his secretary’s time. “Of course, my lord. If it’s urgent I - “
“Oh, it is not; let us see your guest to the new rooms, first.”
Once Buru is settled into a very nice room in Cliopher’s shared suite, he steps outside with his Radiancy and a somewhat winded Ludvic. Most of the escorting guards disappear into the other rooms, which makes sense, although Cliopher still doesn’t understand why his lord would see them moved personally.
“Was there a magical incident, my lord?” asks Cliopher.
His Radiancy regards him blankly.
“...I am wondering why you’re involved in issues of lodging,” Cliopher clarifies.
“Oh. Yes, it was magical. Cliopher, how are you feeling? Did anything unusual happen today?”
“Unusual? No, my lord, why do you ask?”
His Radiancy exchanges looks with the Commander of the Guard. “Think about it for a moment,” he urges.
Cliopher shakes his head. “Nothing except my uncle’s visit. I was just wandering the market. I’m - “ Cliopher looks between his lord and Ludvic. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t understand what this is about. Is my uncle’s presence going to cause a problem of some sort?”
His Radiancy sweeps his eyes over Cliopher. “That remains to be seen; though I think it would be best to offer him all the hospitality the Palace can provide.” This doesn’t really explain anything.
Even more astonishingly, his lord adds, “You are both invited to dine with me tonight. Ludvic, will you make sure…?”
“Of course,” says Ludvic.
Cliopher feels increasingly off-kilter. Since he came back to the Palace it feels like everyone knows something he doesn’t. What an inconvenient time for a relation to visit! “My lord, I – my uncle, he is not – I do not expect he knows anything of proper etiquette - “
“He need not follow the etiquette,” declares his lord, astonishingly.
Cliopher shakes his head. “If there’s some emergency, something you need assistance with…?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Sayo Mdang,” says his Radiancy. Again he looks Cliopher up and down, finally peering into his eyes. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
It sounds almost like a threat.
“Hello! I brought wine,” cries Buru, totally ignoring every protocol Cliopher just taught him to stride right inside.
“How very kind,” says his lord, ignoring the breach of etiquette as he gestures for Cliopher to rise. “But we would be poor hosts, surely, if we couldn’t provide a suitable meal on our own.”
“Only a poorer host would refuse gifts,” counters Buru, sprawling into a chair across from his Radiancy. He doesn’t look at all fazed by the fine porcelain dishes, the golden cutlery, the beautiful spread on the table. Cliopher takes a seat beside him with more sedateness, mentally preparing an apology to his lord for…
Well, for all of this. He’s been shockingly lenient, even knowing that his Radiancy dislikes the usual formalities of court.
His Radiancy looks at Conju, who takes the bottle, inspects it, and sniffs. “Alas, you must forgive us,” he says in his haughtiest tone. Cliopher notes his hand tremble a little, though. “My lord cannot consume anything that hasn’t been purified to his standards; and it would be abominably rude to leave him out.”
“But it is a fine gift and will get used eventually,” his Radiancy adds in a conciliatory way.
Cliopher’s uncle throws back his head and cackles again.
Well, at least he’s not upset about the rejected gift; privately Cliopher is pretty sure wine is always considered fine for consumption – something about the fermenting process? – but he’s not going to argue if his Radiancy doesn’t care for imported Vangavayen grapes; rum would be much better.
“Now,” says Buru, considering the table with a satisfied air once his plate’s been filled, “what is your name?”
Everyone pauses. Conju hovers behind his Radiancy with a pitcher of water precariously close to spilling. Cliopher regards his uncle in mute horror.
When his lord asked for introductions it didn’t even occur to him – surely even his hermit-uncle knows the Sun-on-Earth? Surely even he understand whose Palace they’re in?
Buru grins around at everyone, blithely cheerful.
“...My name is Artorin Damara,” says his lord, apparently determined to be polite. “Lord Magus of Zunidh.”
To which Buru huffs, and says, “Naaaaah.”
Cliopher twitches, fighting down a compulsive and frankly intelligent need to slap a hand over his uncle’s mouth. He starts to apologize.
“You do not recognize me as Lord Magus?” asks his Radiancy.
Buru snorts. “‘Course you are. Your magic is very much of Zunidh – at least the uncomfortable outside bits.” He squints a minute. “But ‘Artorin Damara’ – that’s just what you call yourself. It ain’t your name.” He grins again. “Doubt you’d have given it to me, otherwise.”
Conju makes a horrible twitch, and breathes, “Given?”
“Not like that,” his Radiancy murmurs. “It is a title, I suppose; like many others I possess.”
“Eya, I’ll accept that.” And his uncle gives that kookaburra laugh again. Cliopher’s starting to wonder just what’s so funny.
The food is delicious (everything served to his Radiancy is exquisite by default.) Cliopher tries to carry a mild conversation about neutral things – the sea-train and Buru’s experience with the market, or current weather on the Islands. But Buru keeps asking his Radiancy strangely pointed questions.
Like, how long has Cliopher been working for him? How many people does his Radiancy command? How many people work under Cliopher’s department? What is it the two of them do every day, exactly?
His Radiancy shows more patience with these probes than Cliopher has ever seen. Cliopher soon gives up on protesting in favor of fuming in mute embarrassment as his lord lavishes praise and compliments upon Cliopher’s work. It’s very kind of his Radiancy, certainly, to flatter him in front of visiting family. And it’s mortifying; Cliopher has never wanted to be like any of the self-important braggarts among court.
But Buru said he’s here to check on Kip, and he appears pleased enough so far. “Good to know he’s valued here,” he muses. “He tends to get into trouble, this one, haha! Nearly drowned a few times as a kid.”
“You knew Cliopher as a child?”
“Oh, I keep an eye on him. Has a more exciting life than you’d expect. He runs toward fires, not away. And he’s never said no to my challenges.”
That’s the kind of Islander compliment Cliopher can accept with real pleasure.
“He can be a bit reckless about such things; an excellent point,” says his Radiancy in a voice that could chill lava. He turns to Cliopher. “Will you stand a moment?”
Though confused, Cliopher does so. His Radiancy waves a hand – then does so again, again, plucking his fingers like he’s playing a harp. A strange shudder runs through Cliopher. “My lord?”
“It has occurred to us that you could use some more magical protections in your position as our Hands,” says his lord.
“I – very well, my lord – but is this really the time?”
“Yes,” says his Radiancy. “You are extremely important to Zunidh, Cliopher; and to me.” He flicks a glance at Cliopher’s uncle and adds, “I will not allow you to come to harm. My magic will ruin anyone or anything that tries to injure you. Be it an act of man, nature, or god.”
“...Respectfully, my lord, I hope that doesn’t mean anyone who bumps against me in a corridor will be killed.”
“It’s partially based on intent,” his Radiancy murmurs. Which is not at all the same as saying ‘no, of course not.’ He drops his hands. “That should be sufficient, on top of your pre-existing protections.”
“My what?”
It’s weird suddenly sharing space with a dozen guardsman, but the suites are big enough Cliopher still has a huge room to himself (bigger than his previous apartment altogether). There always seem to be at least two guards when he ventures out, who frequently stop talking at the sight of him. Cliopher hopes they get over any awkwardness quickly.
Cliopher has work today, including a Council meeting in the afternoon; tomorrow he’s off. Maybe he’ll take Buru for a quick hike; the jungles are different than anything back home.
“Feeling alright, Sayo Mdang?” asks one of the guards as Kip makes a pot of coffee.
“Very good, Cadro, how did you sleep?” asks Cliopher cheerfully. “Would you like some coffee?”
Cadro agrees, and so does Tiapo. “The kitchen sent up some food,” says Tiapo, and to Cliopher’s astonishment he indeed finds a cart full of breakfast items – everything from toast and eggs to fresh-cut fruit, buttery rolls, and smoked sausages. Maybe a kindness for the guards, after they were shuffled around so hastily last night.
He serves himself some toast and sausage before settling down to eat with the others. “You just received a promotion, didn’t you, Tiapo? Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Sir,” says Tiapo rather glumly.
Cliopher pauses, fork poised over his plate; he glances at Cadro, who shrugs. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, no! I’m quite honored. It’s just – my family’s so pleased that two of my cousins want to join up.”
“And that’s – bad?” Cliopher supposes having family around would make for an awkward working situation.
But Tiapo grimaces. “They have the skill to pass the tests. But let’s say, I think they’d have fit in better under Emperor Eritanyr.”
Oh; that kind of family problem. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I trust Rhodin and Ludvic wouldn’t let them get far if they can’t be… professionally appropriate; you don’t need to handle anything yourself if it’s uncomfortable. You’re not even involved with hiring.”
“I’m more worried they’ll manage to get themselves executed,” says Tiapo gloomily. “Or try to get me to vouch for them – which I wouldn’t, of course – it’s just going to make things so awkward, with their mother and mine...”
Cliopher can certainly sympathize with disapproving families. “Is there some work they’d be – better suited for, perhaps? Something you could suggest?”
“I’d feel like scum for making any suggestion; the problem isn’t the work, it’s them.”
Cliopher eats as he considers that. If they’re hoping to join the Guard – if Tiapo thinks they have the applicable skills – they must be strong, fast, and watchful. “Have you thought about the Royal Hunters Guild?”
The guild lost some status, like so many things, after the Fall. But it rebounded fast, partially because people needed help dealing with the various magical disasters that sprang up. The Royal Hunters Guild tracks down dangerous magical creatures – and, since the Fall, angry and displaced soldiers from the old days – and dispatches threats that could harm civilians. They’re usually paid by bounty.
Cliopher explains that the latter would also help prevent any abusive behavior from Tiapo’s cousins; no one will hire bounty-hunters who disregard their employers, and they’ll have respect without being granted government-entrusted authority.
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll suggest it,” says Tiapo with real gratitude. “I keep telling myself not to care about those louts, but – I don’t want them dead. Or my auntie miserable, for that matter.”
“Family is important,” approves Kip’s uncle.
Cadro chokes on his coffee, perhaps startled by Buru’s scratchy voice. Cliopher didn’t notice him arrive either, and feels abashed at his own rudeness. “Buru – did you sleep well? Did you want some coffee?”
“Oh, I don’t need food or drink,” says Buru cheerfully. “I am sustained by your happiness this morning, my favorite nephew, and a job well done.”
Cadro fiddles with a knife on the table; Cliopher gives his uncle a bemused smile and fetches more coffee anyway. Despite his rejection Buru sips it happily enough. He asks, “Where are we going today, Kip?”
“Oh, I have to stop by the Offices before attending my lord. We have a Council meeting this afternoon.”
“Excellent.”
The guards exchange glances. They both push their plates away. “You know, we have some business nearby; we’ll walk you down there,” says Cadro.
“Er,” says Kiri, eyeing Buru warily. “Are you sure we should be talking about official matters in front of your – uncle, Sir? That seems like a privacy concern.”
That’s fair. Cliopher opens his mouth to explain. Then he blinks.
Blinks again.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, Kiri, were you saying something?”
Saya Kalikiri looks between Cliopher, his uncle, and the idle guards. “No, Sir,” she says at last. “I have a report on that issue in Jilkano-Lomoi. It may be worth discussing with Himself before the Council…”
They discuss their response to the dispute, then a recent audit for the Ministry of Trade, which resulted in two people being sacked; a great improvement on their earlier audits. Kiri also confides she’s worried about two staff – a relative of theirs died and they aren’t handling well – so she requests permission to shuffle them over to some less stressful positions.
Through all this she keeps slanting Buru nervous glances. When it comes time to join his Radiancy Cliopher turns, blinking to realize Cadro and Tiapo are still with him. “Oh – don’t you have a shift soon?”
“We’re not late,” is all Cadro says. Tiapo nods nervously.
So Cliopher shrugs. The two finally depart after sharing a quick word with the outer guards stationed at the Royal Apartments.
Cliopher makes his obeisances like normal; his Radiancy raises him with a sharp gesture. Golden eyes gleam, lingering on Buru. “I see your guest remains with us, Sayo Mdang.”
“Yes,” says Cliopher, wondering why that’s important. Buru crosses over to inspect the beautiful jeweled nightingale, perfectly comfortable, as though he belongs here. Which he does, of course.
His Radiancy follows the man with his gaze. Then he turns to Cliopher. “Let us discuss the agenda for the Council.”
The Council is more well-attended than usual, mostly because every single royal seems to have brought at least two guards. Six flank his Radiancy on the throne, and a few of his lord’s closest guards even materialize to hover near Cliopher. He’s not sure why; he’ll have to pull aside Ludvic or Rhodin, later, and ask if there’s been a threat no one’s mentioned.
There’s no seat for Buru, but he sits amiably beside Cliopher on the floor. Buru Tovo doesn’t like chairs, either. No one pays him any mind.
Like all Council meetings, there’s a lot of arguing, grand-standing, and complaining. His Radiancy speaks very little, generally to turn the topic or mildly remind people to get back on track. As usual Cliopher directs the meeting; his Radiancy only needs to intervene when some disgruntled prince remembers Cliopher’s a nobody, and tries to ignore him. But these days that’s rare.
Which is not to say the princes forget Cliopher’s a commoner; they just know there’s no point whinging about it.
Prince Belu is not the worst of the royals – that title belongs solidly to Princess Oriana. But he’s the sort of indolent aristocrat who thinks budgets are a mere suggestion and formality, and ought to be disregarded by wont.
Thus Cliopher spends a frustratingly long time trying to explain first that Belu does not need a personal skyship funded by Zunidh taxes. Then that, no, they can’t simply raise taxes to fund Belu’s indulgences, because that will have effects, and taxes in Western Dair have just been raised anyway.
And, no, wanting to ‘look at mountains and clouds’ is not a valid governmental expense.
“My subjects would not mind,” says Belu (who has not even suggested that his people pay toward the construction, but all of Zunidh). “My people adore me - “
Buru laughs.
It’s the loudest Kip has heard him laugh since his arrival, that rattling kookaburra crowing. The effect is dramatic; people around the Council Chambers jolt and look about wildly, like they somehow forgot the man in grass-skirts sitting beside them. Only his Radiancy remains unmoved.
“Adore you!” Buru cackles. He bares his teeth, something between a snarl and a manic grin. “Ha! Pass that law and they’ll tear your head off with their bare hands, piss on your corpse. I see it; I can see it happen.”
Mortified, Cliopher stumbles through apologies for this grave insult. He expects a reprimand; expects his lord to scold him, to throw them both out, to -
But Belu sinks back into his seat, pallid. His Radiancy interrupts Cliopher’s apology and suggests moving to a new topic.
Cliopher shoots a scolding look at his uncle. Blinks.
Blinks.
He settles down to write his notes. Prince Belu doesn’t speak a word the rest of the meeting.
Cliopher’s surprised when his uncle declines to hike the next day. “There has to be some space closer to this big hunk of stone, nephew! I don’t want to walk. Show me you can still dance.”
So Cliopher takes him to the gardens.
He still practices the dances, of course. Usually in his rooms, sometimes in the Liaau. But he’s never done them in public.
They find a secluded corner of the sprawling royal gardens. It’s near a drop with a long, long flight of stairs leading to fields and wilderness. For a moment Cliopher’s worried his uncle wants to go down the stairs, but they stop nearby. The ground is clear and flat; a good area.
Cliopher’s not wearing the traditional skirts, but he’s changed into a rare off-duty sarong loose enough for movement. “Show me you can still dance,” his uncle challenges again, and to Cliopher’s surprise immediately flings himself into the steps of Aōtetētana.
It’s not the greater fire-dance; this one is meant to be done as a group. Cliopher joins him automatically, steps lifting and falling as his uncle starts chanting. He’s fairly sure Buru wasn’t born to their family – what family is he from, come to think of it? The Walea? – but in hindsight it shouldn’t surprise him that Buru Tovo taught his spouse the dances. Buru Tovo will try to teach anyone, if they sit still long enough.
It’s a little strange to do this so close to the Palace, where anyone could pass by. But the chant is familiar, a pace that beats along with his soul. Cliopher finds himself humming, then half-singing along with his uncle. But mostly he follows the song, dancing and dancing. It’s gloriously fun to dance with a partner. When was the last time Cliopher was home for a festival…?
Many years. It comes to Cliopher in his mind’s eye. He can almost see the fires spread out along the beach, and wind-streamers of the Kindraa and the clever flying ropes of the Nevan. He turned to one of his cousins and said they should join.
His cousin laughed. “I doubt you even remember how; why don’t you go help with the kids, Cousin Kip?”
His Buru is frowning, frowning, but the chant doesn’t stop. Did Cliopher make a mistake? But then his Buru switches his steps; Cliopher follows automatically. They fall into a mockery of the Greater Fire Dance.
It’s not a proper version, of course. There are no lines on the ground, no hot coals. Breathing through the thick steam is half the challenge of the dance.
Cliopher never would have guessed the tana-tai would teach this to his spouse. But it makes some sense, and Cliopher doesn’t have the time to dwell on the oddity.
It’s a relief, anyway, to see someone else claim his dance; it’s a relief to claim it in turn, for the first time. Though this uncle is less traditional about it. The chanting gets faster, faster, until they’re spinning and leaping at a speed Cliopher wouldn’t dare use around hot coals. He’s sure he missteps once or twice; but he keeps up. It’s a fun challenge, even if it isn’t right.
At the end his Buru spins Cliopher. They transition into the gentlest dance, the Aōtētana, and lets their blood slow for a minute before drifting to a halt. His Buru’s eyes crinkle in approval. “Good,” he says. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you? Tovo would be proud.”
It’s a simple thing, but it fills Cliopher with warmth. He smiles back, unable to reply through his panting breaths.
Then he realizes they have an audience.
A large audience, in fact. Rhodin stands not far-off with a line of at least fifteen guards. They’re all clutching spears, tense and alert. Cliopher blinks. The moon hangs overhead, starlight glinting off their weapons. But it was still morning when he started dancing. “Hello, Ser Rhodin. I thought you were at the Apartments today?”
“I was,” says Rhodin evenly. The guards are arrayed still and silent behind him. “Just doing some training. Endurance, you know. We go up and down the stairs.”
“Oh.” Cliopher wasn’t aware of that custom. He glances doubtfully in the direction of the long, long winding stairs. “I can’t imagine.”
Rhodin looks between Cliopher and his uncle. “You feeling alright? That dance looked… difficult.”
“Yes, I think I’m a bit out of shape,” Cliopher admits. His legs ache abominably. Someone down the line coughs.
“Didn’t look like it. Aren’t you tired?”
“It might be time for a break,” Cliopher agrees. He shifts, stumbles. Rhodin twitches, as though about to grab him; instead Buru appears at his side, linking arms. Cliopher shakes his head. He really is out of shape. “Good night, Rhodin.” He nods to the guards.
None of them look very happy. Cliopher supposes he wouldn’t be, either; those stairs sound exhausting.
Cliopher falls almost immediately asleep back in his new suite. He wakes and staggers out around midnight to eat some food and get a cup of tea. He makes bleary conversation with a few guards in the common area, assuring them this isn’t his usual habit. Though it could be theirs; they’re probably getting ready for the night-shift.
His Radiancy has a few morning audiences today, but Cliopher’s still busy. He sets out with Buru to meet Duchess Trilla.
Trilla’s a tall, muscular woman, but classically beautiful; she has a soft face and long, burnished hair that would make her appear almost delicate if not for the pronounced muscles revealed by her sleeveless dress. (She rarely wears sleeves, and Cliopher can’t blame her; those muscles deserve admiration.)
She barely sees him to his seat before she starts to complain. “I cannot do it any longer, Sayo Mdang. The boundaries have shifted before; if I can create a new province - “
“Then we’d have a dozen titles wanting their own princedoms,” says Cliopher. This is not a difficult concept. “Your dispute with Jilkano-Lomoi - “
“Dispute,” she scorns. “He has offended me deeply; if he were anyone else - ! You cannot expect me to continue serving him. Even if I hold my tongue now, Sayo Mdang – even if I pay my tithes and follow his laws and self-serving policies - “ (Cliopher admits, in the privacy of his mind, that all the Jilkano princes are indeed self-serving) “ - even so, I would be asked to do so again, again, and again. I see no purpose wasting my time; we can address this now or wait for the problem to fester.”
Cliopher concedes the point, but, “Is it truly such a problem? If the issue is dealing with your prince, directly, you could always appoint a steward to handle such matters.”
Trilla snorts. “Unlike my prince, I handle my lands personally,” she says. Cliopher can’t fault her for that either. “So unless you have another suggestion…”
She trails off. And Cliopher knows, from the look in her eye, what she means. She will be granted a new province, or she will ignore them and declare one anyway – which will certainly mean war.
“Does it have to be Jilkano-Lomoi?” Cliopher asks.
She stares at him, incredulous. “Well he’s hardly going to cede that land to one of the others!”
“No, of course not. But it is common for the Jilkano princes to – assist one another. Act as an intermediary, in this instance.” Cliopher thinks furiously. “What about Jilkano-Lozoi?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Jilkano-Ngurai?”
“You want to distract that incompetent from Nijan?”
A fair point. “Ikiano, then.”
Trilla barks a sharp laugh. “Oriana? You’re joking.”
“Oriana signs what I put in front of her,” says Cliopher flatly.
It’s a near-treasonous remark – though not untrue – and Trilla pauses. She thinks. “So I could bring you my concerns,” she says, slow.
“I would be happy to mediate all concerns between you and the prince,” Cliopher agrees. He’s lying; but it would make him happier than war, which is the important thing.
Trilla watches him narrowly. “One day you’ll overextend yourself, Sayo Mdang.”
“That’s what people told me as an undersecretary,” says Cliopher pleasantly.
Trilla throws back her head and laughs. Buru laughs, too. She jolts a bit at the sound, staring between them.
“So,” says Cliopher. “We’re in agreement?”
Trilla tears her gaze from Kip’s uncle. “...Yes,” she says, oddly breathless. “Yes, that sounds fine.”
Cliopher casually announces his uncle’s imminent departure when his Radiancy inquires. He considers it small-talk; he’s startled to walk his uncle to the gate the next morning and find his Radiancy there with a full escort of guards, several Ouranatha, and a scattering of royalty.
“My lord?” asks Cliopher, wondering if he’s forgotten a festival.
Buru, of course, never appears discomfited by anything. “Now, what’s this? A royal farewell?”
“Indeed. I hope you have been comfortable as our guest,” says his Radiancy, face blankly serene.
“Aye, I think I’ve seen enough.” Buru gives a sharp grin. “Much better than Emperor Lodyr’s court, I’ll tell you.” Lodyr was the 97th emperor of Astandalas; Cliopher frowns in confusion. “Got one more thing to do, first. A gift for you, Kip.”
Buru doesn’t have a pack – he carries nothing but a small stone knife tucked into his skirts. So Cliopher’s baffled until his uncle unwinds the string of flame-pearls from around his own neck. “A gift for my nephew, the future tana,” he declares. “Already doing your job for these poor veliois who lack a lore-keeper; I’ll tell Tovo when I return. Take your time with your emperor, with my blessing.”
And before Kip can thank him – he’s nearly speechless at the finery of this gift – Buru puts a hand on his neck and bows their heads together in an Islander farewell.
With a jolt, Cliopher pulls away. He looks at the pale, drawn faces of the guards. His Radiancy’s protective bristling. Back to his uncle. “Buru Vou’a!” he cries, furious.
The Son of Laughter cackles, leaps into the air, and disappears.
“So he really was your family,” his Radiancy says for the fifth time. He’s seated at his desk in the Imperial study, having just finished examining Cliopher with magic. Again.
“Yes, my lord. He’s married to my uncle Tovo; I lived with them a few years as a child.”
His Radiancy shocks Cliopher by briefly resting his face in his hands. “Alright... Alright. Sayo Mdang. Cliopher. I am very glad you are not enchanted by some sinister Faerie-King. But I think we need to compile a few new additions for your Protocols.”
“...That may be a good idea, my lord.”
And Kip feels sympathetic, he does. But when he touches the efela around his neck, he can’t help but smile.