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 phenom
enon. 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 dri
fted 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.
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 67
