by R. Cooper
“Sleep,” Trenne told him firmly, and Taji grumbled and pressed closer before falling asleep once more.
Chapter Seven
TAJI DID his best to keep pace with Mos, although she was taller than him, with a longer stride, and had no badly functioning prosthetic to slow her down. The warm sense of relaxation he’d woken up with had vanished the moment the flurry of arriving messages had pulled Trenne out of bed.
The messages themselves had filled Taji with a sense of panic he hadn’t felt since being late for class as a student. He hadn’t had time to linger or think on what it meant that he and Trenne had been tangled together. He’d cleaned up and dressed once again in his best and only soria, which was still damp, and a clean pair of pants that were both unpatched and unstained.
The pants were Trenne’s, the kind he wore for sparring, and large on Taji—a problem Trenne had solved by slicing the fabric with his knife. The belt of the soria was enough to keep the pants stable at Taji’s waist. Taji could admit that, barefoot, he almost could have been Shavian, but Trenne had insisted he wear shoes. Now, Taji was grateful for that, as the padding in his boots eased some of the pain of his fast walking.
Mos turned as if to speak to him, then realized he had lagged behind. She immediately stopped. So did the Imperial Guards trailing them. Mos ignored the pair with enviable ease. Taji had startled once again when he’d emerged from their room to find them there.
Behind the Guards was the silent figure of the part-hurat servant girl, who had accompanied Mos and had been only too delighted to enter their rooms to find Trenne half-dressed, applying shimmer to Taji’s eyes and lip.
Taji had absolutely no reason to avoid her gaze. Nonetheless, he kept his attention on Mos.
“Apologies.” Mos was slightly out of breath, as though she had been rushing around before she’d arrived to escort Taji to Larin’s party.
Party was not the correct word. The word used was the one for an evening meal. But Taji got the impression it was more of a festive gathering, partly because Mos used a different word to refer to the feast that was set to take place after the hunt. Taji was looking forward to some food, either way.
“You probably have other things to take care of.” Taji excused Mos forgetting about his leg again because it did genuinely seem to be an accident, although it did make him wonder how Shavians treated other Shavians with disabilities or health problems if total control meant total control over bodies, too. “You do not have to wait for me.”
“Apologies,” she said again.
Taji’s irritation with the situation wasn’t aimed at Mos, so he shrugged. “You do not have to escort me. I could probably have found the way.” Eventually.
Mos’s eyes widened a fraction, which Taji took for definite, and very real, alarm. “I would never leave you to wander, lost.”
Taji almost gestured to the two Guards and the servant with them who would have ensured he wasn’t lost. “It is my fault I was late.” Technically, he hadn’t known he was late because he hadn’t known about this event until the ambassador had messaged them about it. How Tsomyal knew about it was something Taji didn’t want to think of. He hadn’t seen Tsomyal all day, neglecting his duties to take a nap with Trenne.
Although the shehzha situation wasn’t Taji’s fault and he didn’t like being here without Trenne. But the ambassador had made it clear it was a party—a gathering—for those asked by the emperor, and Trenne was not on that list.
Taji hadn’t seen any of the others from the team around either and he was not calmed by that.
Fuck, he just wanted to go back to bed. It was how he imagined a real shehzha must feel, and he wasn’t even thinking about sex. Much.
Mos studied him for another moment, and then began to walk again, slower this time. “I am sorry to take you from him. It is great to ask of you.”
Taji did not want to consider what expression had been on his face at the thought of bed. He resumed walking alongside her and wondered if that last remark had been a subtle condemnation of Larin and this gathering he had arranged.
“I’m fine,” Taji answered at last, as if he wanted to go alone into a place filled with either hostile or uncaring giants who carried knives as a matter of course, who may or may not have been responsible for the death of his predecessor.
If Trenne were the type to pace, he might be stalking back and forth right now, his comm unit in hand.
Taji let himself be marginally comforted by the comm unit tucked into his soria next to his data device, and strove to appear unconcerned by the fact that he had no idea what he was walking into.
“I can see your bond is new,” Mos offered after a short time of silence. “Hopefully, tonight will not tax you too much.”
Taji glanced at her. Her ears said she was alert, if not relaxed. He doubted she was just making conversation.
On one hand, it was good to know that others believed their act. On the other, people believed it so much they had thoughts on where Taji and Trenne were in their relationsh—the development of their chemical triggers and bonds.
“We’re being careful,” he answered at last. It seemed sensible and vague.
The sun had set, and Mos had taken him up a short staircase to the surface. The only lighting aside from glimpses of the rings and the moons were soft white and blue orbs that lined every path and corridor.
“Careful?” Mos echoed in a more openly shocked tone than Taji would ever have expected from her. Thankfully, she didn’t ask questions. “How admirable,” she added, then changed the subject. “I see you have your translation device this time.”
“It helps me with words I do not know yet.” Taji nodded, almost pleasantly. Mos wore a device too, presumably to catch stray Anglisky. He wondered how accurate hers was, and if it had been programmed by IPTC. “May I ask if Olea Rinnah is angry with me about this morning? I would still like to view the temple if possible. Tomorrow?”
“They have planned the hunt for tomorrow.” Mos was quiet. “And the mistake this morning was mine.”
Mos took her orders from Rinnah, but Taji let that go for the sake of what interested him more. “I have some questions about the hunt.”
“I assumed you would,” Mos said mildly. “You seem to have many questions.”
Taji felt judged. “Questions should not upset anyone. I am trying to learn your ways as best as I can, so I will not offend.”
“And yet with those words, you hint that your questions have upset people and you imply it was without cause.” The only noise Mos made was the faint jangling of her bracelets as she gestured gracefully.
Taji sighed. “It is my job to ask and to learn. Your culture on this continent alone is very old and established. I have a lot to catch up on.”
“Your sergeant major cannot help you?” Mos wondered. Taji didn’t bother to examine her tone.
He stopped dead, forcing everyone else to stop, too. “Seeing as he has been excluded from all facets of your society and culture, no, Trenne cannot be as helpful as someone like you or Olea Rinnah,” he said sharply. Then he continued walking.
Mos didn’t have to struggle to keep up, which irked him more. She sounded as if she was reciting something. “Hurat cannot control themselves.”
“Like the Sha can?” Taji finished for her. “Except for shehzha, of course, who are not expected to. Or in some cases, like me, can’t. But it’s fine when shehzha do it? Because we are not doing anything important, and some strong, controlled Sha is there to take care of us?” It was unfair to argue when she wasn’t really allowed to argue back with him, but Taji wasn’t feeling fair. “Well, Trenne is doing great.” He was definitely flushed. “Better than great.”
Mos slowed. “I did not mean to speak ill of your eshe.” Finally, someone gave Taji a word for Trenne’s position in relation to a shehzha. Mos had meant to speak ill of Trenne, he knew, but Taji glared without commenting. Mos ducked her head in symbolic remorse. “I did not realize he was also your happiness until this morning when you
allowed us to witness him with you.”
Isica, she said. Taji was the most obvious human in the universe.
“I thought it was a matter of convenience, perhaps,” Mos went on, ignorant of Taji’s mortification. “Or you had a human need? Apologies, again,” she added quickly. “I am not used to humans, or hurat.”
“You employ one.” Taji crossed his arms.
The twitch of Mos’s ears signaled what was likely offense. “You believe I spend my free time among the servants?”
Taji, who had assumed she was a servant, tried not to sigh. “Please do not get upset when I ask, but are you a servant?” And she hadn’t really addressed his remark.
“Are the Guard?” Mos responded, haughty.
Taji hadn’t really thought about the Imperial Guards in that sense. He turned to look at this pair, different from the last set. “I suppose a warrior class is different from a serving class,” he commented, mostly to himself, although the Imperial Guard didn’t seem to be either. Two impassive stares met his inquisitive one. “I don’t know much about the Imperial Guard,” he concluded at last, to Mos. “Although, in what history I have studied, the institution itself goes back pretty far. It’s interesting that the emperor would need one, but every leader I’ve ever seen or heard of has security—as well as a staff. There’s no shame in being staff.”
He was starting to enjoy the aspect of being a shehzha that meant no one could argue with him.
Mos had a look in her eye that said Taji was very much not a servant, but aloud she only replied, “I am Inri.”
Not sure if he should be impressed, Taji settled for a thoughtful frown. “Is that a noble family? I am sorry, I do not know all of them yet.”
Mos took a breath. “It is my honor to assist Rinnah and anticipate her needs to the best of my ability.”
Honor again.
Taji waved toward to the two Guards. “Is it their honor to serve as well? Do you get honor in return?” He could imagine someone dying for Rinnah, possibly. But dying for Larin… Taji could not see that at all, no matter how much honor was involved.
“It is not for anything to be returned!” Mos answered, genuinely shocked and speaking with a formality that came out in the muted voice of Taji’s translator. She took another breath to help calm herself; and she’d had the nerve to criticize Trenne’s self-control. “But then, perhaps because you work for a trade organization, giving honor to get honor seems logical to you.”
If that was an insult, Taji ignored it. “I don’t actually do any trading. I help make a working dictionary and translator, as well as gather historical and cultural information to help the I.P.T.C. in dealing with your people.” He smiled at her blank look. “Connotations matter. Like how ‘house’ and ‘home’ mean different things in both our languages.”
Mos turned to lead them down an open corridor, partially protected from above by slats with vines grown around them. Or perhaps they were all part of a tree, the trunk somewhere out of sight.
“I think,” Mos pronounced quietly, when, for a single moment, the two of them were alone, “you should be careful. Stay with your soldier, if you can.”
She turned again while Taji was frozen in surprise, and gestured grandly. “This way, please, shehzha Taji Ameyo.”
Taji belatedly became aware of the hum of many conversations, and the trickling, rushing sound of water. Also, a slight, almost whispered hint of stringed instruments. The Shavian music Taji had heard was always slow and soft, one or two notes at a time, extended and faintly humming, rather than complex patterns or danceable rhythms.
He hurried to stand next to Mos then promptly forgot about the delicate strains at the sight of dozens of Shavians, dressed in the most brilliant of colors amid a garden of closed and blooming flowers and trees hung with lights. He thought there was a stream running along and under the path to the building, but he couldn’t find where it ended or began.
He didn’t see Tsomyal, or Rinnah, or Eriat. Koel Gia was present, chatting to another person without a visible knife, a cup in her hand that probably had midye in it. Another quick look around and Taji spotted Talfa. If Taji didn’t know any Koel, he would have said Talfa was trying to stay out of sight. They were standing near a tree, in shadow instead of orb light. Talfa was wearing a mix of greens, which seemed subdued, for their taste.
Talfa spoke to no one. Meanwhile, everyone else was talking in groups of two or three, holding cups and standing next to tables overflowing with fruits, or flowers, or vegetables, perhaps some meat that none of them were touching. Because diplomacy meant politely starving while being surrounded by plenty.
“But I’m so hungry,” Taji whined to himself.
He’d momentarily forgotten Mos. “The display is meant for others to enjoy.”
“Do you see anyone enjoying it?” Taji gestured dramatically to everyone. Some of them noticed and gave him scathing looks in return. Maybe they were as worried about poison as he was. Or there was some rule that no one could eat until Larin did.
Mos inclined her head. “I will have some sent to your rooms, to be there when you return.”
Taji beamed. Her upright ears were as good as gaping surprise.
“Thank you!” If the food was poisoned, at least Taji would die full. “Enough for Trenne, too?”
He hadn’t noticed he and Mos had gotten closer to each other until Mos abruptly pulled away.
“You are very devoted.” She was either being sympathetic or brutally condescending. “That is a natural consequence, but it is usually expressed differently. Your pairing was an emotional one? Before you ever allowed him to court you?”
Her attention left a staring, flushed, struck silent Taji and went to the other side of the garden, where Larin and Rinnah were coming down the path from the far building. “May all shehzha be so blessed,” Mos wished softly, and then stepped away from Taji and into the crowd.
Taji watched her weave toward Rinnah until his eyes were drawn inevitably to the emperor, a step or so ahead of his sister.
Larin’s choice of stark white clothing stood out when surrounded by so many others in bright hues. His coloring seemed to shift as he passed beneath different orbs, making him a part of each shadow he walked through.
His knife was the same he’d worn before. His favorite, then, or one of some meaning to him, but probably only ornamental since the gray of the Imperial Guard dotted the crowd.
Larin’s courtiers surrounded Larin the second he reached the party. Rinnah detached herself from his side and greeted Koel Gia and a few others with what looked like warmth, Mos already with her.
The admiration from the people orbiting Larin made sense. Even if Larin hadn’t been powerful and wealthy, he was probably exactly what a noble Shavian male should be in this day and age.
Taji tried to imagine Larin in the garb of the ancient Sha, holding some of those weapons in Koel Eriat’s home. Being emperor in those times would have required a different skillset. In the years of the many uprisings and rebellions, both here and across the sea, the empire had survived because of rulers both ruthless and brutal. In times of peace, with only scheming, power-hungry nobles to contend with, craftier and more subtle emperors had been the ones to live.
Taji didn’t know what Sha would need now to prosper. Although, whatever he personally thought of Larin, IPTC would do business with whoever would peacefully do business with them. But how they did business, and on what terms, hinged on Ambassador Tsomyal.
Tsomyal, who was dependent on Taji’s words and observations.
Taji hurriedly turned away from Larin because that realization was probably all over his face. The power Taji had only just noticed he had was immediately taken from him the moment he moved through a field of towering nobles. He felt as small as a child, and his leg meant he couldn’t maneuver smoothly but they all seemed to know who—or what—he was, and stepped aside. They studied him, curious or annoyed, but they also all looked to the two Guards behind him before pointedly turning
away.
Taji didn’t have it in him to feel relieved. He was full of nerves and exhaustion until he reached the semi-secluded spot where Talfa stood.
“Taji shehzha!” Talfa greeted him with quiet surprise.
“Taji is fine,” Taji tried, although it rarely seemed to work. At Talfa’s side—but with a respectful distance between them to keep his two Imperial babysitters happy—he turned to look into the crowd.
He did not see the ambassador, but he did find Koel Eriat and Koel Tule, speaking to each other. The only one of Larin’s retinue that Taji knew by name—Nikay—was at the party as well. He was with Larin.
“What is Nikay’s family?” Taji asked distractedly, in the middle of Talfa thanking him for the honor of his name but assuring Taji that they did not want to be disrespectful.
“Shyril.” Talfa stared at Nikay while Taji tried to recall what he could of that family. “From the south.”
