by David Weber
"I hope you won't take this wrongly, Your Majesty," the Voice said wryly, "but you're really quite a bit like your son. Or possibly the other way around, I suppose."
"I've been told—especially by his mother—that it runs in the family." Zindel chuckled, and Kinlafia smiled. Then the Emperor allowed his expression to turn more sober.
"Seriously, Voice Kinlafia, I believe Janaki was correct about the political asset you represent. And I also share his judgment that it would be in the best interests of Sharona and of the House of Calirath for me to assist you in launching your political career. Mind you, it could be fatal for me to give you too much assistance. I have no intention of offering you any sort of quid pro quo, any sort of 'understanding' or obligation to become 'my man' in Parliament. First, because I don't believe you would accept my aid if I attached that sort of string to it. Second, because people who allow themselves to be bought by promises of power from one man are generally susceptible to being bought by bigger promises from someone else later on. And third, because people who share your beliefs and support your policies because they think they're the correct policies are far more effective as allies than people whose uncritical allegiance, as everyone knows, has been effectively bought and paid for.
"If, however, I campaign too energetically for your election, there would be those who simply refused to believe I wasn't buying your eventual support. I trust you understand that?"
"Of course I do, Your Majesty."
"Good. Having said all of that, though, I think we can contrive to get you off to a rousing start. And in the process, you can probably give the public's morale a fairly substantial poke."
"Your Majesty?"
"As I'm sure you're aware, the next week is going to be exhaustingly full of festivities to celebrate the formal ratification of the Act of Unification, culminating with the Coronation Ball and Coronation the week after that. In fact, you've gotten home in the nick of time. The actual signing ceremony is scheduled for this evening, in the Great Throne Room. It's going to be one of those unbearably formal affairs, with full regalia and the kind of shoes that have you limping inside five minutes. Fortunately, given how recently you've arrived and the fact that no one could possibly expect you to have proper formal attire, you can probably dodge that particular bullet."
Kinlafia's expression reminded Zindel forcibly of a cornered rabbit, and the Emperor smiled crookedly.
"What you won't be able to dodge," he told the Voice, "is the parade scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I understand they're pulling out all the stops. It's going to be incredibly gaudy, with floats, marching bands, mimes, tumblers, military units from at least two dozen countries, and everything else you can imagine. And you, Voice Kinlafia, are going to be one of the prime exhibits."
"I beg your pardon?" Kinlafia's voice was curiously stifled sounding, Zindel observed.
"Of course you are, and for a lot of reasons. Probably the most important, and I'm deadly serious about this, is that you represent a living link with Shaylar." Zindel's eyes and tone alike were both level as he gazed into Kinlafia's eyes. "You may find that uncomfortable, but it's true, and the people of Tajvana—and of all of Sharona, for that matter—need to see you. The SUNN Voicecasts have made you a symbol, one inextricably linked with what happened to your survey crew out there. And at this moment, when everything is in such a state of flux and there's so much uncertainty, symbols are hugely important."
Kinlafia obviously wanted to reject Zindel's analysis. For a moment, the Emperor thought that was exactly what he was going to do. But then, manifestly against his will, the Voice nodded slowly, instead.
"At the same time, however," Zindel continued after a moment, "politics is perhaps the most pragmatic of all human endeavors. To put it bluntly, one always tries to kill as many birds as possible with a single stone in the political arena. And make no mistake about it, Voice Kinlafia—even the most high-minded of statesmen must be an effective practitioner of politics if he hopes to accomplish anything.
"In this case, the visibility of the Unification Parade will provide you with an invaluable platform from which to launch your political career. And, if you have no objection, I intend to see to it that the platform it offers is used as effectively as possible."
"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?"
"In just a few moments, the chamberlain will escort you to Alazon Yanamar's office." Kinlafia looked blank, and Zindel shrugged. "Alazon is my Privy Voice. She's not simply one of my most valuable councilors, either; she's also my political chief of staff and probably my most trusted political adviser after First Councilor Taje himself. She'll see to it that you're slotted neatly into the parade in an appropriately visible niche. She'll also see to it that you're properly accoutered for the ordeal."
The Calirath smile flashed again, and Kinlafia returned it, although the Voice's smile seemed rather more nervous.
"Trust me, Voice Kinlafia. Alazon will make sure it doesn't hurt a bit. Besides, I think you'll like her."
"I'm sure I will, Your Majesty," Kinlafia said politely.
"At any rate, in addition to getting you launched properly in the parade, Alazon will also be the most suitable member of my staff to serve as a neophyte politician's adviser. And she'll understand how the Crown can most effectively support your candidacy without being too obvious about it."
"I see, Your Majesty."
Kinlafia, Zindel observed, continued to nurse a few reservations about accepting too much of the imperial favor, which spoke well of the man's fundamental integrity. It would be up to Alazon to show him that Zindel truly intended to attach no strings to his support.
Well, not any political strings, at any rate, the Emperor told himself. Personal loyalty, now. That's something else, entirely.
Not that Zindel intended to tie that personal loyalty to himself.
"After you've had an opportunity to meet with Alazon and get your immediate schedule squared away," he continued, "I trust you'll be able to join us for supper. I'm afraid it will be a little late this evening, what with the signing."
"Supper?"
The panicky look was back in Kinlafia's eyes, Zindel noticed.
"Don't worry," the Emperor said soothingly. "It's not going to be a formal state occasion. In fact, you'll be the only guest. And, before you object, let me remind you of what I said at the very beginning of this interview. None of us have seen Janaki in months. You have. His mother is going to be just as anxious as I to hear anything you can tell us about him. She'll want to meet you, and the opportunity for you to begin experiencing this sort of affair will be extremely useful and valuable. If you'll pardon my saying so, the chance to dip your toes into these waters in an intimate, friendly sort of way is nothing to sneeze at."
"Of course not, Your Majesty!" Kinlafia said quickly. "I understand. And thank you."
"Don't mention it. As I said, the Empress is looking forward to the opportunity to talk to you. And, of course, you'll also have the opportunity to meet my daughters."
'Chapter Eleven
The door to Alazon Yanamar's office was less ornately carved than the private audience chamber's. It was more ornately carved, on the other hand, than any other door Kinlafia had ever seen outside a Temple, he observed sourly, remembering his activist parents' views on "imperial trappings." And, for that matter, on "professional political operatives," which, from what the Emperor had said, undoubtedly included the woman behind that door, Voice or no Voice.
Great, he thought. Just great. My political keeper's going to be another Voice, with all the opportunities for "subtle coaching" that provides! Won't that be fun?
His guiding chamberlain rapped discreetly on the gleaming portal. The sound he produced was so soft Kinlafia doubted anyone could possibly have heard it, but he was clearly wrong, since the door was quickly opened by a young, golden-haired woman with bright blue eyes.
"Yes?" she said.
"Voice Kinlafia to meet with Privy Voice Yanamar," the chamberlain
said, and the young woman's bright blue eyes moved to Kinlafia.
"Voice Kinlafia!" The welcome in the young woman's voice was genuine, Kinlafia realized. "It's an honor to meet you, sir! Privy Voice Yanamar is expecting you. Please, come in!"
"Thank you," Kinlafia replied, just a bit taken aback by her enthusiasm. Then he glanced at the chamberlain who had been his lifeline—so far, at least. "And thank you," he said, with utmost sincerity.
"You're welcome, sir," the chamberlain said. "It's been my honor." He bowed to Kinlafia, then bestowed a somewhat less profound yet still deeply respectful bow upon the young woman in the doorway, and headed off down the endless hallway.
Of course, Kinlafia thought, they're all endless in this place, aren't they?
The young woman opened the door wider and stood back, and he accepted her silent invitation to step across the threshold into a pleasantly furnished office.
"I'm Ulantha Jastyr, Privy Voice Yanamar's assistant," the young woman said. As he concentrated on her, Kinlafia realized she was a very strongly Talented Voice herself. "As I say, the Privy Voice has been expecting you. If you'll follow me, please."
He followed Jastyr across the outer office to an inner doorway. Unlike the chamberlain, she didn't knock; she simply alerted Yanamar via Voice, then smiled over her shoulder at Kinlafia, opened the door, and stood aside.
"Thank you," he said once more, and stepped past her into yet another of Calirath Palace's obviously infinite number of rooms and chambers.
This one was smaller than the Emperor's private audience chamber, although it was still spacious and high-ceilinged. It also had windows overlooking the same garden, and it was decorated with horses. Lots and lots of horses. There were paintings, two tapestries, and half a dozen large, framed photographic prints on the walls, and a long display shelf across the entire width of the office's bookshelves held literally dozens of ceramic, crystal, and bronze horses. Kinlafia was no art connoisseur, but he didn't have to be one to recognize that many of them were exquisite (and undoubtedly expensive) art pieces in their own right.
The plethora of equines distracted his immediate attention from the new office's occupant. Only for a moment, though. Then he turned towards her—and froze.
Alazon Yanamar, he realized, was about his own age. She was slender, high-bosomed, delicately boned and of little more than moderate height for a Ternathian woman, which meant she was perhaps an inch and a half shorter than he was. And she was obviously a very powerful Voice; he could feel the strength of her Talent from ten feet away.
All of that was true, he realized, yet it wasn't what registered upon him so immediately and powerfully. No, what registered upon him were the huge, incredibly deep, clear gray eyes and the mass of midnight-black hair framing an oval face which the gods had clearly designed for laughter, humor, and intelligence.
They trapped him, those eyes. He remembered the ancient saying, the description of eyes as the "window of the soul." Between Voices, that could be literally true, and as Darcel Kinlafia looked into these eyes' crystalline depths, he Saw the glowing power deep in the heart of her.
It wasn't until much, much later that he finally realized Alazon Yanamar, despite an exquisite figure, was not a beautiful woman in any classical sense of the word. Her cheekbones were too high, her nose was too pert, her chin too determined. And none of it mattered at all. Not then, and not ever.
"Voice Kinlafia." Her speaking voice was deep, for a woman. It was also rich and musical, shimmering with subtle undertones that rippled like clear water over beds of golden sand. It went through him like harp notes of sunlight, and he drew a deep, lung-filling breath.
"Voice Yanamar," he replied, and saw those gray eyes widen slightly even as he heard the edge of hoarseness in his own voice.
She started to say something more, then paused. He could Feel her looking into his own eyes, and then her nostrils flared.
"Oh, dear," she said softly, and Kinlafia reached out to touch her cheek with birdwing fingers.
He'd never done such a thing in his life. Certainly not with a woman he'd never even met before! This time, it was the most natural possible gesture in the multiverse.
I never really believed anyone when they told me about things like this, he thought. Which just proves the gods do have a sense of humor, I suppose.
"This is an unexpected complication," she said after a moment, and Kinlafia smiled as that magnificent voice sang through him.
"I suppose it is," he agreed. "I never expected it, anyway."
She laughed. It was a delightful sound, and Kinlafia found himself smiling hugely at her.
Under any other circumstances, a corner of his mind recognized, he would have felt like an utter idiot standing here, touching a strange woman's face, grinning like a fool, and floating with his feet ten inches off her office floor. Under these circumstances, it was inconceivable that he could have done anything else.
Occasionally—very occasionally—Voice met Voice and, in that first instant of awareness, recognized one another. Felt the interlocking of Talent and heart. Other people might speak about "love at first sight," but for Voices, it could be literally true . . . and the bright glory of that moment of recognition could be the greatest tragedy in their lives. There was no guarantee that two Voices "meant for one another" would find each other at all, much less before one of them had met and loved someone else. When that happened, when one or both of them weren't free, this soul-deep fusion could cause incredible pain for everyone involved.
I just thought I loved Shaylar, Kinlafia thought. Then he gave himself a mental shake. No, that's not true. I did love Shaylar, and I always will. But this—
"What do we do now?" she said, as the laughter left her voice but not her eyes.
"You're asking me?" Kinlafia shook his head. "I didn't even know your name until ten minutes ago!"
"Does that matter?" she asked simply.
"Not at all," he told her softly, fingertips caressing her cheek.
"Good." She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning her cheek against his touch, then inhaled deeply, opened her eyes, and straightened her spine.
"Good," she repeated. "I'll remind you of that quite often in the future, I'm sure. But I'm very much afraid we don't have time to explore us at this moment."
"No, we don't," he agreed, yet even as he did, his Voice continued.
Most people, Kinlafia knew, would never have understood. Even another Voice would find it difficult—as Kinlafia himself always had, when he'd seen it between other Voices—to truly realize, or to believe, perhaps, that two total strangers could meet and know instantly that the gods themselves had crafted them to be the two halves of a single whole. That they could share such a serene, unshakable confidence that they were meant to be together. That, in fact, they already were together.
I never understood it, at any rate, even when Mayla and Hilas tried to explain it to me. He shook his head mentally at the memory of his friends trying to tell him how it worked. But maybe it's different for everyone. Maybe it hits all of us in a different way. Or maybe it's just something no one can explain, even to another Voice, unless it's happened to them?
He didn't know the answer to his own question, but he knew that he would never be able to explain it. Not how it had happened, or how potent it was, or how magical. Or how something so deep, so powerful, could be simultaneously so calm, so patient and ready to wait upon the future. It was like standing in the eye of a hurricane. All the incredible power and passion, the wonder of having met one another, the promise that so much more was still to come, roared about them with strength to shake the multiverse by the scruff of its neck until its teeth rattled, and yet they stood in a place of crystal clarity that was poised and peaceful, like gold fish drifting effortless as dreams over golden gravel in a deep, clear pool.
&n
bsp; "Please," she said, stepping back and waving one graceful hand at the comfortable chairs placed to flank the coffee table and form an intimate little conversation nook. "Sit down. We've got a lot to discuss. Officially, I mean."
"Of course," he agreed, and obeyed the invitation.
She let him settle into his chair before she picked up the folder on her blotter, walked around the desk, and seated herself in her own chair, facing him. She looked into his eyes for a moment longer, then took a fountain pen from her pocket, uncapped it, and opened the folder in her lap. It was, he recognized, her way of announcing that it was time for business.
"Now," she said briskly, "about this parade . . ."
* * *
Zindel chan Calirath's eyebrows arched as Yanamar Alazon and Darcel Kinlafia were ushered into the private dining room.
That dining room lay in the Emperor's Wing, the most recently modernized portion of the palace (for Calirath Palace, "modernization" was an unending process which had begun literally thousands of years ago), and the gas-jets and oil lamps of the less modern areas had been augmented with the relatively new incandescent lights. Personally, Zindel didn't much care for them, esthetically speaking. Their light was much harder edged, in his opinion. But it was also undeniably brighter and a huge boon for people (like certain emperors he could have named) who found themselves forced to deal with ream after ream of paperwork and reports. And unlike him, Varena much preferred the new lighting—probably because of her interest in needlepoint—while even he had to admit that it made it easier to see people's faces and read their expressions.
Like now, for instance. For two people who had never met before that very afternoon, the two Voices were indisputably together, and the Emperor forcibly suppressed an all but irresistible temptation to grin like a triumphant urchin. The human being in him was simultaneously touched by and envious of the all but visible glow radiating from them. Like most Caliraths with the Calirath Talent, Zindel had often resented the fact that Glimpses were so often things of tragic portent and never of things like this. But he needed no Glimpse to realize what had happened, and that was the reason for his sense of triumph. He'd never expected, never dreamed, that anything like this might occur, but the Emperor in him recognized instantly how valuable it could prove.
