by Fonda Lee
It was difficult for Hilo to behave in a rational and civil manner toward people with whom he did not share any personal warmth. Their status or importance in the eyes of others had little bearing on him. He knew this was a weakness on his part; indeed, placing personal feelings over more politic considerations had led him into trouble before and earned him his grandfather’s ire. When Hilo and his siblings were children, Kaul Sen had beaten Lan infrequently and Shae not at all, but his middle grandchild had been whipped for causing trouble with instructors at the Academy, for breaking the arm of the son of one of his grandfather’s own business partners, for being seen around the city everywhere with the Maik boys.
Doing his best to quell both an instinctive resentment toward Son and a sense of general discomfort with the pompous formality of the oak-paneled office, Hilo let himself be gestured into the seat across from the chancellor’s wide desk. Shae positioned her chair slightly behind and to the left of his. He was glad she was present because she appeared more at ease than he felt. The chancellor sat and motioned to his aide to bring refreshments, then turned to Hilo with that same painted-on smile.
Hilo said, “Well, I’m here. What do you want to talk about?”
Son’s smile wavered visibly. “Kaul-jen,” he said, recovering it with admirable speed, “I appreciate that you’re a very busy man. Leading the clan as Pillar in this time of difficulty is no doubt all-consuming. I dare say as much work as running a country.” The rebuke was delivered with a casual thrust, but it was clear nevertheless. Son was the functional head of the government and not pleased with having been kept waiting by a twenty-eight-year-old street fighter who’d come into the clan’s leadership unintended.
Hilo replied with a casual jab of his own. “I hope none of your political opponents are trying to take your head off with a moon blade.” He nodded in thanks at the aide who put a cold glass of anise-scented tea in front of him. Trying hard to bear in mind what Shae had told him about the importance of the Royal Council and the clan’s need for political support and legitimacy, Hilo changed his tone and said more seriously, “I’ll admit I have a lot to learn about being the Pillar. My brother—let the gods recognize him—didn’t have a chance to prepare me for it. Our enemies saw to that, and I haven’t been off my feet since. I apologize if I’ve been disrespectful by not meeting with you sooner.”
Hilo’s sincerity seemed to appease Son somewhat. “Well, the most important thing is that you’ve been sitting down with Ayt Mada and the council’s mediation committee. As chancellor, I couldn’t be part of the committee myself, but it’s making progress, I hope? A negotiated peace is, after all, what we’re all hoping for.”
With great difficulty, Hilo kept the sneer off his face by lifting his glass and draining half of it. Chancellor Son’s eyes flicked down to the sight of Hilo’s hand, the callused knuckles covered with recent scabs, and was less successful than his guest in not betraying his contempt; his mouth twitched, wobbling his jowls for a second, before he said, “The sooner the clans can resolve their differences and return our city to normal, the better. For the sake of the people and the country.”
“The Mountain murdered my brother.”
Son Tomarho cleared his throat uncomfortably. “A terrible tragedy that will never be forgotten. However, I would venture to say, based on my experiences with Kaul Lan-jen, that he would’ve placed the ultimate good of the clan and the nation foremost in his mind, ahead of any personal desire for vengeance.”
“I’m not Lan.” And suddenly, having said these words aloud, Hilo relaxed. A smile returned. “The Lantern Men and the Royal Council will have to accept that.”
The chancellor frowned for the first time. “The Lantern Men of No Peak, while they are unwavering in their loyalty and allegiance to the clan, are naturally concerned for the safety of their communities and the hardship that’s being imposed on them.”
“You mean the increase in tribute payments,” Hilo inferred. “It’s true we’ve had to raise tribute in order to fight the war. The Weather Man can speak to that.”
It was not the most graceful way to give Shae permission to speak, but Hilo was losing patience for the niceties. Besides, he’d been Perceiving for some time Shae’s aura bristling with anxiety that he would fuck this meeting up, and he might as well let her say her piece. Shae leaned forward at once and said, “As you’ve said, Chancellor, war between the clans has disrupted business. No Peak is obligated to provide financial aid to our Lantern Men whose property has been damaged or whose livelihoods have been affected. When Green Bones are killed, we pay for their funerals and provide for their families. When they’re injured, there are medical bills to account for. Unfortunately, the Mountain has a substantial financial advantage over us as a result of manufacturing SN1 overseas and appropriating jade outside of the purview of the Kekon Jade Alliance. The official audit results haven’t been released, but I can provide you with all the proof you require.” She inclined her head and concluded firmly, “No Peak needs the full support of its Lantern Men right now, and we’ve raised tribute only so far as necessary on those who can bear it. If you wish to see the details of how we’ve calculated the new rates, I’d be more than willing to share them.”
Hilo was impressed; his sister sounded like a real Weather Man. Chancellor Son leaned back in his chair, crossing his well-padded arms. “I don’t doubt your math, but the reality is that increased tribute is a hardship for even the most loyal clan members. It will be seen as particularly poor thanks for those”—and here Hilo had no doubt Son was referring to himself—“who’ve been tirelessly driving, on Kaul Lan-jen’s mandate, the passage of bills legislating inspection and reform of the KJA.”
“Fuck the KJA,” said Hilo. “What happens there doesn’t matter.”
Son Tomarho’s face went momentarily blank. “Kaul-jen,” he said at last, completely nonplussed, “your brother—let the gods recognize him—believed strongly in establishing ownership safeguards around the national jade supply—”
“My brother was trying to prevent war. Now we’re at war. Whoever wins is going to control the city, and the council, and the jade supply. If the Mountain takes over No Peak to become the single most powerful clan on Kekon, do you really think Ayt’s going to give a sick dog’s wet shit about your legislation?” Pushing back from the table, Hilo stood up and stretched, stiff from a host of recently acquired minor injuries.
Surprised but following his lead, Shae stood up with him, but Chancellor Son remained seated, apparently at a loss for how to respond. Finally, he rose to his feet and said, with no remaining trace of his practiced geniality, “So you mean to disregard the concerns of the Lantern Men, then? And to dismiss the efforts of the council?”
“Not at all,” said Hilo. It was true that he was not Lan. He did not have Lan’s gravity nor his diplomatic acumen, he couldn’t handle this the way Lan would’ve handled it, but he’d dealt with disgruntled subordinates and unhappy Lantern Men before, on his side of the clan. “The clan would be worthless without its Lantern Men and without people like you, Chancellor,” he said. “But I’m starting to think that after so many years of peace, some people have forgotten why they pay tribute. I’ve always been taught that back during the war the Lantern Men were patriots who risked their lives to help Green Bones, because Green Bones protected the people when the country was in danger.
“We’re at war again now, and the country will be in danger if No Peak falls to the Mountain. If one clan controls jade. Isn’t that what Lan was afraid of when he came to you?” Hilo fixed the chancellor with a penetrating stare. It was not unfriendly, but there was a predatory quality to Hilo’s stare that made many people flinch or lower their eyes when subjected to it, and the chancellor was no exception.
“I can see you don’t like me much,” said Hilo with cool amiability. “But I’m the Pillar, and you’re the highest politician in the country with ties to No Peak. We’re clan brothers, of a sort. We both want to win this and come out
alive.”
Son’s eyes widened. “I want what’s best for Kekon, Kaul-jen. And that’s peace between the clans. That’s why I moved immediately to form the mediation committee.”
“The mediation’s a fucking farce,” said Hilo. “You’ll find out why soon enough. So we’ve got to win this thing. And that means the Lantern Men have got to be wartime Lantern Men. They’ve got to stick their necks out for the clan. Prove that allegiance that they’re always going on about when they come asking us for this or that. They’ve got to pay the higher tributes—and you have to make sure they do it.”
Chancellor Son burst into a coughing, nervous laugh. “There are thousands of Lantern Men in the clan. You’re deliberately making decisions that risk a mass defection from No Peak. You can hardly expect that I ought to be held responsible—”
“What’s that number again?” Hilo turned slightly over his shoulder toward Shae. “How many companies make up some large percent of the clan’s business?”
“The twenty-five largest No Peak affiliated entities account for sixty-five percent of the clan’s tributary income,” said the Weather Man.
Hilo turned back to Son with satisfaction. “Right. So what the big dogs decide is what matters. All the little dogs will follow. The Son family is one of the big dogs. It has to go to the others and convince them to fall into line. Make them see that they might have to suffer a little right now, but it’s so the clan can win. People are people, whether they’re Lantern Men or Fists, jaded or not; they’ll run when they lose hope, but they’ll put up with any hardship if they think they’ll come out on top in the end.”
Son tugged at his collar, which he abruptly seemed to be finding too tight for his bulging neck. “There could well be many Lantern Men who would rather defect to the Mountain than commit themselves to No Peak under such … unyielding terms.”
The Pillar appeared to consider this. “You wouldn’t be one of those people, would you, Chancellor?” he asked quietly. “If the Mountain destroys No Peak and takes the city, I’ll be dead. My entire family will be dead. You’re the one who’ll live with what happens afterward.”
Hilo could see the wheels turning in the politician’s head. Jaded or not, one did not rise to power in Janloon without a great deal of shrewdness and a powerful instinct for survival, and Chancellor Son was well aware of the fact that he was far too closely and publicly tied to No Peak to survive politically in a city ruled by the Mountain. Son had orchestrated the KJA reform bills and the financial audit meant to expose the Mountain’s illegal activities. His daughters ran a No Peak tribute business and had married into the clan; one of his sons-in-law was a Luckbringer and the other was a midrank Fist. His political and business allies would be targeted by Mountain-affiliated rivals. There was no escape for Son Tomarho, any more than for the Kauls.
Hilo saw all these thoughts writ in the chancellor’s deeply resentful silence, and he felt compelled to walk around the huge desk to the man. Son seemed slumped into his own bulk, making no effort to move away and only tensing in a half-hearted way when Hilo laid a hand on his ample shoulder. “My grandfather and my older brother had great respect for you,” Hilo said solemnly. “So I have respect for you, even if I can see on your face that you don’t respect me as Pillar. Normally, I wouldn’t put up with that, but I’m willing to forgive it because of course I understand: Why would you accept me after years of dealing with Lan? There’s one thing I’ll say, though: So long as I live, I’ll never turn my back on a friend. Ask any one of my Fists, anyone who knows me, even my enemies, and they’ll tell you if what I say is true. You’re already an old friend of the clan, so if you’re willing to forget my disrespect in not coming to you earlier, I’ll gladly forget your slights to me. If we survive this together, we’ll be like brothers-in-arms. What a laugh that’ll be, won’t it, two men as different as us? But the clan needs both of us to stand firm now.”
Son drew a breath into his large frame and blew out loudly. When he turned to look at Hilo, he wore the dignified expression of a veteran statesman making an unfortunate but unavoidable decision and girding himself to face the inevitable storm to follow. The chancellor might not be pleased or willing, but at least Hilo could see the man’s reluctant regard, his grudging reassessment of the new Pillar. “I am loyal to the clan, and you’ve made your position quite clear, Kaul-jen,” Son said, with a touch of bitterness and admiration. “I believe we have a mutual understanding.” And he brought his clasped hands up to touch his forehead, inclining into a salute.
“What was that?” Shae hissed as they walked from Son’s office down to the mediation committee’s meeting room. “That wasn’t what we’d planned.”
“It went fine.” Despite having achieved what he wanted with Son, Hilo was not smiling as he strode down the marbled hallway with grim purpose. He resisted the urge to append some smug remark to his sister about what had happened. You didn’t need to speak sweetly and offer patronage at every turn to these people. You had to be honest with them and show that they had more to gain from your friendship than your enmity. Did she think his Fists obeyed him because they were rewarded with favors or cowed by threats? No. Mutual survival was the basis of brotherhood and loyalty, even of love.
“What is it? What haven’t you told me?” Shae whispered urgently as they reached the doors of the meeting room. She could Perceive his cold fury and aggravation. He didn’t answer her, merely pulled open the door and strode in; she’d know soon enough.
The meeting with the chancellor had delayed them; they were the last to arrive. Ayt and Ree were already there, Ayt conversing formally but amiably with two of the councilmen that Hilo knew to be Mountain loyalists. Hilo dropped into his chair without apology for the tardiness. From across the room, the other Pillar turned her head toward him, unable to avoid Perceiving the ferocity in his aura. Others in the room shifted uneasily, sensing the change as well. The first two sessions had been expectedly tense. This was different. Something had brought Hilo to a true temper.
Councilwoman Onde cleared her throat. “As we’re now all present, let’s begin where we left off yesterday.” She seemed uncertain of how to proceed and flipped nervously through the copious notes on her yellow legal pad. “We were discussing the financial terms of a peace agreement between the clans.” Onde glanced at Hilo but hesitated to call on him. Instead she turned to the Mountain Pillar and said, “Ayt-jen, I believe you were about to make a proposal at the close of our session yesterday.”
Ayt Mada wore an expression of complacent curiosity as she regarded Hilo. It was clear that something she had said or done had gotten to him, and she seemed eager to discover whether her foolhardy young rival would finally explode and make a spectacle of himself. Ayt laced her fingers. The loose sleeves of her silk blouse slid down her forearms, revealing snaking coils of jade. “Yes, Chairwoman,” she said, “I was explaining that No Peak’s offenses against us over the past year have been so costly that it is only reasonable we discuss reparations.”
Reparations! It was too perfect; Hilo leaned his head back and laughed.
No one else at the table seemed to think his outburst of mirth and contempt was appropriate. The No Peak council members stared at him, aghast, and he could feel Shae’s aura raking him with disapproval. “Kaul-jen,” said Councilwoman Onde, with nervous admonishment. “Ayt-jen has brought up the very valid and serious issue of financial settlement. Your response suggests you’re dismissing the idea as humorous. The committee would appreciate it if you would elaborate on your position calmly.”
Hilo leaned forward, a forearm on the table, the other hand pressing against the arm of his chair so he nearly rose from his seat. The room froze as the amusement on Hilo’s face transformed into menace. In a soft, flat voice that carried in the frightening silence, he said to the other Pillar, “Enough bullshit, Ayt. You’re a thief. A jade thief.”
It was the worst sort of insult between Green Bones, to suggest a person did not deserve the jade she carried, that
she’d come about it dishonorably. For a second, Ayt’s face went entirely still and her eyes burned with a light that appeared as if she’d fly out of her seat to snap Hilo’s spine. Then with impressive aplomb, she turned a calm face to Councilwoman Onde. “It appears Kaul-jen has no respect for these proceedings.”
“Don’t talk to them!” Hilo barked. “You’ll talk to me.” For the first time, he saw Ayt regard him in a tense assessment that held something other than contempt. “The Mountain is behind the discrepancies in the KJA’s records. Don’t lie to my face, thief. You’ve been taking jade above quota from the mines all year.”
Behind him, Shae sucked in a breath. Her jade aura flared and bathed him in shock and recrimination. What are you doing? He could sense her shouting at him in her mind. Their trump card, their biggest charge against the Mountain—he’d thrown it down more than two days early, without waiting for the audit results, without clearing it with her or gathering the support of No Peak loyalists on the council. He’d ruined her plan; they’d lost the potential leverage of using the public disclosure of the audit results as a bargaining chip against the Mountain. Shae was furious. He could tell she kept herself silently in check now only because the Weather Man speaking out in this public forum without the Pillar’s cue would only make them look worse.
