Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cliopher sees the advertisement in the Csiven Flier two days before the event.

A maritime-themed art exhibit at the museum, supposedly featuring all the provinces. Of course this doesn’t mean there will be anything from the Vangavaye-ve, but just the potential tugs at his curiosity. And if he’s disappointed, well, it will still be interesting to see other interpretations of the sea.

And it will, most importantly, get him out of the Palace. Prince Rufus has been haranguing him day and night to join a new committee on provincial educational reforms. Cliopher doesn’t know why, since they disagree on virtually everything, so he suspects this is some rare case where they’d hold similar views and Rufus wants to dump the responsibilities as chair onto Cliopher. The Prince of Amboloyo generally finds it beneficial to hamper Cliopher as much as possible.

Cliopher is somewhat disappointed when he arrives. At first he doesn’t see a single depiction of the Wide Sea Islands, which seems like a tragic oversight for an exhibit like this (considering his islands are, objectively, among the most beautiful sights in the nine worlds). One painting reminds him of the Bay of Waters, but only in some vague and disappointing way, like how eating ill-prepared food makes you crave something better.

And then near the end of the twisting halls, past dolphin sculptures and sand-dollars and canvases covered in sinking ships, he overhears someone say the name Elonoa’a.

Or, well. They try to say it. They pronounce it more like Ela-knowle. But Cliopher recognizes the way his culture is butchered in Solaara; Cliopher listens long enough to see the person point, then heads on, hoping to see a depiction of the one historical moment of the Vangavaye-ve even these velio should know. He can always depend on Shaians to have heard about the Seafarer ‘King.’

There is, in fact, a giant portrait at the end of the exhibit. It shows Aurelius Magnus on a beach, smiling, hand extended. Though Cliopher only guesses this by context; their long history of incest renders most of the past emperors virtually indistinguishable.

And across from the painted Aurelius is...

Well. Not Elonoa’a, that’s for sure.

Cliopher stands in front of the painting awhile. First he’s confused, then stupefied. Finally, rage starts to burble in his veins.

It’s a stupid rage, is the thing. He knows this is ignorance, not malice. The people of Solaara know nothing of his culture. The painter tried, he tells himself.

It doesn’t help.

Because Elonoa’a is dressed like, well… like an aristocrat. He has dark skin – not dark like Cliopher’s, but the deep obsidian-black of the Last Emperor. Which may be deliberate; Cliopher could excuse that fawning bit of sophistry if not for the clothes. The painting depicts Aurelius Magnus and Elonoa’a on a beach, a beach of the Vangavaye-ve, and yet he’s trussed up in silk robes and a formal hat like he’s some well-bred courier who’s never stepped one foot off chiseled tile flooring.

Cliopher tries to tell himself it’s better than the usual depictions of the Vangavaye-ve; he’s more than once seen his people imagined with bloodstained teeth and crazed grins, not unlike the misunderstood Tkinele. But that kind of blatant disdain is almost easier to laugh at.

He doesn’t really expect anyone present to agree with him, so it’s a surprise when someone steps up to his side. “Can you imagine swimming in that nonsense? He’d sink and drown as soon as he entered the water; thus ends the story of Elonoa’a!”

Cliopher’s not sure whether the speaker actually believes his people wear that sort of thing. He turns to ask, but the words catch in his throat as the brilliant lights catch on something; a string of efela. Multiple rows, in fact.

The speaker is a handsome man, a few years younger than his own (physical) age. Only the slightest hint of gray touches his hair; but he has deep laugh-lines around his cheeks, the sort of old-age markers that make a face more appealing instead of less. A smile stretches them now, a flash of white teeth. The stranger claps him on the shoulder. He has tough hands and a broad build.

He’s not wearing grass-skirts, but his scandalously sheer shirt and shorts show about as much skin. Cliopher respects him immediately for the gall of dressing like that to a fancy Solaaran museum. “And that would be a shame,” says Cliopher. “It’s one of my favorite stories.”

“You won’t get originality points for that; it’s everyone’s favorite story. Terribly romantic.” The stranger peers at Cliopher, eyes flicking down to the mostly-hidden circle of pearls around his own neck. “Well, will you make me ask? Who are you?”

Cliopher almost grins – half at the impatience, half at the question itself, which he hasn’t heard in years. Even when he visits home, no one asks the infamous mad Mdang who he is.

“I am Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa. My island is Loaloa. My dance is Aōteketētana.”

“A Mdang in Solaara! Can’t escape you, eh?” The man laughs, then finally answers the challenge himself. Well, I am Akoni Ela of Baolao. My island is Kiuruina. My dance is Aōtezēzama; though I can’t claim to know it well.”

Oh, that is interesting.

“Adopted or born?” Cliopher asked, now with some idea why Akoni might have come to Solaara.

“Born; but I would have been adopted anyway,” Akoni confirms the suspicion.

The Ela are the shamans of the Vangavaye-ve. They’re known to happily adopt anyone with a gift of magic, and the interest of pursuing it; as a result they tend to birth many mages, too. “You’re here to study?”

“A mage studies all his life; I’m here to find work, I suppose, as most people are. But I hope to go back home with something new.”

Cliopher smiles. “A noble pursuit.” And maybe one that would find more sympathetic reception among the Ela, known for wandering, than the Mdangs; but Cliopher pushes this thought aside. “When did you arrive in Solaara?”

“Only a month ago... I think? Time is so strange here. I could lose myself just in the magic around the palace… not that I’ve been to the palace. But if you could just see it with a mage’s eyes…”

“I’d be delighted to give you a closer look,” says Cliopher on impulse. Akoni looks startled. Perhaps it’s too forward of him – but he’s unexpectedly delighted, watching the light glint off that efela. When was the last time he saw a real Islander in Solaara? Someone from close by; Kiuruina isn’t far. “Not tonight, perhaps; I’d need to let the guards know first. But there are some places I could take a visitor… the petition hall, the gardens… the library, of course.”

“The royal library!” Akoni sighs with the love of a true scholar. “You must work at the palace? That would be wonderful. Though,” he adds, “I’m not sure I’m dressed for the occasion; I get enough stares on the streets.”

At this point Cliopher becomes aware there are, indeed, people staring at Akoni in his strange outfit, more likely for some sulky Nijan teenager than a grown man. He shrugs. “All the more reason. The Palace represents all the people of the Five Worlds; they ought to be exposed to the different types of them in Zunidh, at least.”

“Ah – a person who enjoys scandal and drama, I see.”

Cliopher almost laughs at the thought of someone suggesting such a thing back home. Fussy, overbearing Kip with his notes and reports, enjoying drama!

Well; some of the courtiers might agree with that. Though Cliopher doesn’t think it’s his fault nobles are so sensitive. “I’m really quite dull; but I’m sure I can show you some interesting places in Solaara, at least.”

“So soon and I’ve already found a wontok to guide me, “Akoni laughs. Cliopher blinks a little, not having thought of it that way.

But he finds he likes the idea. They are of the same people; it is nice to remember those ways outside the Isles, especially here, so far away in the city. And it’s the duty of any local wontok to help new travelers. “Yes,” he decides. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

Cliopher meant to be back at the Palace at least an hour ago – he still has work in the morning, as always. But even as his thoughts drift back to his comfortable home, his bed, the reports he meant to polish before sleeping – he just keeps walking.

It’s not every day he makes a new friend, he justifies.

He’s pointed out some of his favorite shops to Akoni already. Solaara is a different place at night – still lively, because it’s the world’s capital, but in a quieter way. The stars glimmer overhead. Sky Ocean always seems to shine brightest when you’re in the vicinity of the Lord of Rising Stars, and even from this distance there’s something queer and too-close about them. Mage-lights and lanterns both line the nighttime shops, the latter covered with thin, colored paper so the streets are lit by a riot of colors.

It’s sometimes a little garish, Cliopher thinks; but Akoni seems charmed. For him everything is new enough to be exotic rather than tiresome. Cliopher smiles to himself as they walk, placed into the surprising role of a relative expert all things Shaian. For many years Cliopher was the one baffled and confused by the strangeness of velio – but then, Cliopher never had a willing tutor, another Islander. He just grit his teeth and smiled through the confusion, pretending not to be appalled at the odder bits of court-life. He was criticized enough for his background without revealing ignorance, too.

“There’s so many people here,” Akoni tells him. “I could get lost without ever leaving the city.”

“I’ve done so before,” Cliopher agrees. “It’s still a bit confusing to me.”

“Even after so many years? I thought you’d been here awhile, Cliopher.”

“I live outside the main city. And you can call me Kip,” adds Cliopher on impulse. “That is what everyone calls me, at home.”

“Kip.” It gives Cliopher an odd thrill to hear his name in that familiar, nostalgic accent. “Ahh, you know, I think I have heard about you. Your mother is Eidora Mdang, yes? The Mdangs do talk about you – ambitious cousin Kip, who sailed away to break their hearts and won’t come home.”

Cliopher purses his lips. “Not yet, at least.”

“Not ever, according to your family! Fancy uncle Kip who prefers the velios, and doesn’t dance...”

“I dance, still.” As often as he can with his full schedule.

“Do you?” Akoni smiles, something almost mocking in his eyes. “There’s a place down near the outer gate that’s putting on a little festival tonight. Why don’t you show me?”

(When he was a boy Cliopher hoped to be a mage.

It was a silly hope. He was not one of the Ela, and he’d never shown any propensity for the ability. He wasn’t even sure what he’d do with magic, whether he had a minor or major gift.

But the Emperors had magic.

Though they weren’t all mages, per se. While most magic is innate, the heads of the Empire were always exceptions. Partially, this is due to their divine ascent; but it’s also because of the rituals and ceremonies, the millenia of Taboos and structured magic that made the Emperors the focal point of magic for their demesne.

Basil had a little magic. Not much, to Cliopher’s undiscerning eye, but enough to perform tricks. The one that made Cliopher really envious was his ability to summon flame. Basil wasn’t great at that, either – the fires were no bigger than his thumb – but just the idea… Cliopher would have been delighted if that was the only bit of magic he’d ever be able to make.

One of his great-great-aunts could apparently give herself fireproof skin. In hindsight Cliopher can see how this would be a damning crutch to learning the dances properly; he’s still jealous.

As a child Cliopher spent hours and hours trying to perform spells, in secret, even though the Ela told him it wasn’t possible. A lot of kids probably did that, but Cliopher was determined. He sat with bits of dried grass in his hands, staring at it, trying to summon flame for so long that his eyes crossed. But all he got was a blistering headache.

Cliopher is famous for his ambitions, his stubbornness. But he is a realist, too. He did not have magic; eventually he gave up that fantasy, and moved onto the things he could actually accomplish.)

“You were trained in schooled magic, weren’t you? The Shaian kind.”

Akoni slants him an odd smile as they walk to the dance hall. “What makes you think that?”

“Only the fact you came here,” says Cliopher, wryly. “I confess I know nothing of magic,” something he’s always left to his lord’s unending expertise, “but I know wild mages do poorly in Solaara; and the kind of magic the Ela use…” Cliopher trails off.

Schooled magic is a broad category, yet rigidly defined. The Ela always seemed more like wild mages to him; but if asked they would say, no. Of course they used schooled magic. Everyone must, on Zunidh. Strong wild mages don’t survive on Zunidh.

“You aren’t wrong. But my magic is a bit strange. Magic is different since the Fall,” which is something Cliopher has heard often. “I would have called myself a wild mage, then. Weak enough to get by, since the islands were so far from the heart of the empire... But I’ve been able to use some schooled magic ever since the Fall. Stronger magic; it’s odd. That’s why the Elders told me to come here. Solaara is where the best priest-wizards live. I don’t suppose you know any?”

Cliopher thinks of Lord Iprenna and Lord Bavezh... of all the court, the Ouranatha make him the most uneasy. “Not really,” he says, neutral.

Akoni shrugs. “I’ll find someone to speak with. But just being in Solaara feels different… schooled magic is powerful here. I’m going to enjoy experimenting.”

There’s not really much Cliopher can contribute to a discussion on magic, but he’s always eager to learn something new. So he’s happy to let Akoni talk about his latest project – what he calls, “an attempt to link body and mind, to perfect control of ourselves,” whatever that means. Cliopher can imagine a few good uses… long nights would certainly be easier if he could just magic himself into being less tired.

“Here we are,” says Akoni. They both step inside, lingering by the entrance. “By the Sun, is that what they consider dancing here?”

Cliopher tips his head, suppressing a grimace. “Formal events aren’t as bad,” he insists. They gingerly step inside, watching with a little dismay.

This hall is used for formal occasions, sometimes. Cliopher once came and saw a very nice performance by a traveling Alinorel company. But right now it’s just open to the public. A dozen musicians sit off in one corner, playing a jaunty tune at ear-splitting volume. A row of booths and small food-vendors line the opposite side.

And in-between…

Well. Cliopher mostly sees velio dancing at formal balls or diplomatic events, these days. Back home dances often followed the twelve prescribed styles, and even people who danced to other beats could still dance. At courtly events in Solaara the music is quiet and sweet, almost solemn, and people don’t do any acrobatics. But they still at least move with stately composure. Cliopher doesn’t much care for those slow, dull styles, but at least it’s better than the ugly riot of movement in front of him.

“Look,” Akoni whispers, nodding. “That woman in the blue skirt.”

Cliopher follows his gaze, then snorts despite himself. The poor woman seems to be mostly hopping in place, shaking her arms wildly with no rhythm whatsoever. “I’m sure she’s trying her best,” he says, trying for polite indifference; it comes out unintentionally skeptical.

“Maybe not the best place for a night out,” Akoni concedes.

“What are they even celebrating?” Cliopher doesn’t know about any holidays.

“Some spontaneous devotion to the Sun-on-Earth,” Akoni dismisses. Ah; that would explain it. “Well, what a waste. But my house isn’t far, you know...”

“You must be serious about your studies to have bought a house already,” says Cliopher, surprised. “Did you find it difficult to find a realtor in the city?” He’s occasionally heard complaints from newcomers about being scammed, but he’s never had much time to investigate.

“It was fine. Nevermind that.” Akoni leans closer. “Sorry this place turned out to be so boring. I would like to get to know you better, though. First, Kip - do you promise to keep my secrets?”

There is something about his tone that’s formulaic, like the traditional Challenge. It’s not any greeting or tradition Cliopher knows, but the Ela are mysterious. He says, “I promise,” allowing curiosity to lead him.

Akoni smiles. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter, then?”

“Maybe another day?” Cliopher suggests. “It’s getting late.”

Akoni’s smiled remains fixed. “I’d really like to have you over - I can show you my personal dance, and you can prove you’re not a stuffy velio.”

- Oh!

Cliopher blinks. He assesses Akoni’s odd smile, the way he leans toward Cliopher. On the islands, a personal dance is a fairly forward invitation. But Cliopher is getting older; old enough that he no longer expects propositions, that he’s resigned himself to living out the rest of his life alone. So it takes a moment for the suggestion to sink in.

Cliopher isn’t usually the sort for anything casual… he just doesn’t have the time, for one thing. And he prefers to really know people before going home with them.

But Akoni is wontok; Cliopher wants to keep talking with him. It would be nice to build a real relationship with someone else in Solaara, even if this doesn’t become serious, even if they’re only friends afterward. And it’s not like Akoni is trying to use him for political gain; the thought of someone in the languid Vangavaye-ve sending a shaman-spy to honeypot Solaara’s aging Chief Secretary would be more hilarious than concerning.

And if Akoni is anything like his family, he certainly doesn’t know who Cliopher works for.

“Yes, I would like that,” Cliopher decides. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly conscious of the hints of gray, his stuffy red raiment signifying him the Secretary in Chief. How very odd he and Akoni must look together!

But Cliopher shoves the thought aside; he doesn’t like to dwell on the pageantry of his position, the freedoms he’s needed to shed for political leverage.

“I’ve just rented the house, if you don’t mind a walk; though it’s still a bit bare. Unless you’d prefer your own place?”

Cliopher thinks about it.

The Alinorel wing is fairly far from his Radiancy, and not among the most secure areas of the Palace. But it still contains Cliopher’s work. If not for his foresight bringing Adelia Ealoopeha to hotels, rather than his quarters, he would have certainly been removed after the Emerald Conspiracy despite his ignorance.

What he says to Akoni is, “It would be a very long walk, and full of security checks. Better to use your place.”

“You may regret that,” Akoni warns him, flashing a grin as the sky splits open with a rumble of rain. “My neighbor has half a dozen hounds. Loud ones. Not the most romantic backdrop…”

Rhodin finds Cliopher in the morning, matching his pace on the long walk to his Radiancy’s office. “You just about gave my men heart attacks last night,” he says casually. “Letting a strange man take you back to his place? Someone you’ve never met, that they haven’t checked? That’s not like you. Congratulations.”

Cliopher stifles a sigh. “You might at least do the decency of pretending I’m not watched, Ser Rhodin.”

“I thought you liked bluntness,” says Rhodin. Which is true, but perhaps not when it comes to Cliopher’s (lack of a) sex-life. “Anyway, we do need to look into him.”

The silence is expectant. “Surely you aren’t suggesting you need me to supply you a name?” Cliopher muses. “Are your spies in that bad a state? Do we need to expand the budget?”

Rhodin is unruffled. “No point doing things the hard way.”

Fair enough. “His name is Akoni, of the Ela – of Vangavaye-ve,” Cliopher elaborates, seeing Rhodin’s lack of comprehension.

It clears immediately. “Ah,” says Rhodin, in the satisfied tone of someone solving a puzzle. “You were homesick again.”

“I certainly was not.”

“No, no, I feel better now. I wondered if you were having a mid-life crisis.”

Cliopher snorts. “I think I’m well past the middle of my life, thank you.”

“Even worse; some old politicians lose all their restraint! We’ll look into him. Anything else?”

“I don’t really care to be the one spying on him, you know.” Cliopher thinks a minute. “He’s here to study magic. That’s really all I have.”

“Good to know. I don’t mean to discourage you; it’s just we have to check.”

Because of the Emerald Conspiracy, and Cliopher’s atrocious judgment, yes, yes. “I understand, Rhodin. But frankly I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

“Fair enough.”

Cliopher’s work that day proceeds as usual – which means a long walk to His Radiancy’s chambers, the usual obeisances, and then slow hours writing his lord’s thoughts and providing suggestions where necessary.

There are a lot of these suggestions, today. Not because Cliopher is in good form; in fact he’s rather distracted with thoughts of the prior night. But usually when the Lord of Zunidh speaks each sentence is clear and brilliant; he attacks political problems with a cunning that effects change without using the sheer weight of his divine-mandate to bulldoze through dilemmas, even though he could.

Today, there is none of that cleverness. Just quiet deliberation of the day’s news, a few absent orders quickly dispatched. Every time Cliopher probes forth a question, the response is a long pause before his lord finally answers. And his lord always paces, but now Cliopher becomes nearly dizzy with how fast and unceasing it is.

Cliopher cannot, of course, suggest that the Sun-on-Earth is having an ‘off day.’ But at one point he glances over at Commander Ludvic, stoic in his position by the door, and the guardsman offers a sympathetic grimace. Clearly something happened.

Cliopher carefully records his lord’s next message, then waits for an opening. “My lord,” he broaches. “Most of the daily correspondences are complete - “ patently false, “but perhaps you have additional matters you’d like to address?”

His Radiancy stares at Cliopher with what could be called blank confusion on anyone else. Except the Lord of Zunidh is never confused, so Cliopher politely pretends to rearrange his stationery for a minute. “Clarify,” comes the command at last.

Cliopher lifts his chin, not quite meeting his lord’s eyes. “I would only suggest that perhaps my lord is… rightfully occupied with more pressing matters, and if so, it may be beneficial to address those first.”

Cliopher risks another glance toward the door; he finds Ludvic and Pikabe, the other interior guardsman today, staring straight ahead in textbook examples of attentiveness.

A long pause. Then his lord huffs a breath, not-quite smiling. He finally halts to sink behind his chair, though his fingers twitch like he wants to pace. Like the huge and luxuriant office is too much a cage. “Yes; there is something, I suppose. I have actually been thinking of your own example, Cliopher.”

“My lord?”

“You have utterly rebuilt the Imperial Bureaucratic Service,” his Radiancy says. “Shaken it down to its foundations; it is unrecognizable, and all the better for it. A marvel of efficiency.”

Cliopher likes to think he is not vulnerable to praise, but he can’t deny how pleasant it is to hear his Radiancy sound almost admiring. “Thank you, my lord.”

His Radiancy continues like Cliopher never spoke. “You have reshaped my own position, too,” he continues. The mere implication sends a spike of real fear through Cliopher, just for a second. But the Lord Magus of Zunidh does not sound disapproving at this reminder of his slowly-diminishing position. “Together, we have made changes to the Council of Princes… I like to think we have made great improvements. Yet we have not touched the issue of the Ouranatha.”

Cliopher thinks unwillingly of Akoni. But he brushes that rendezvous aside, leaning back in his chair.

It’s true that Cliopher has never targeted the Ouranatha among his slew of planned reforms. He doesn’t know enough about the Ouranatha, is the problem. “I am no mage, my lord. I confess I wouldn’t have the first idea where to start. I don’t doubt that they are… in some ways old-fashioned…” Cliopher trails off.

His lord’s face is stony, giving away nothing. But – Cliopher dares to glance at those golden eyes – something about him is nonetheless miserable, bitter.

Centuries of tradition and magic have laid their boundaries upon the Marwn, the Last Emperor, now the Lord Magus of Zunidh. That cannot all be laid at the feet of the Ouranatha.

But they are undeniably eager to keep those restrictions in place.

Whenever Cliopher sees or interacts with the priests, it always seems to be in relation to the Taboos. He knows they do other things – the Lord Magus often consults with them in his own great Workings. There’d been an uncomfortable number of the priest-wizards lurking around back when he installed the Lights. They help suppress tsunamis, bring rain to drought-stricken areas, provide security to the Palace and to other key places.

But Cliopher knows his lord thinks of the Taboos, too. Thinks of the Ouranatha as little more than jailers; Cliopher has secretly wondered how much of their work is useful, and what percent dedicated solely to upholding the pageantry of a dead Empire.

Finally his Radiancy says, “I have been thinking on them; they have grown more bold, the past few years. And I have seen them bothering the Duchess lately.” Which could mean one of a few things, but most likely that they’re again pushing for an heir, and nevermind how little the siblings want to breed a new captive for the Taboos. His Radiancy takes a slow breath. “I would like you to perform one of your audits on the Ouranatha, and potentially implement some… significant changes to their system. As necessary. You may find it beneficial, as our secretary, to research basic magical rules. And the traditions of the priests, of course.”

Cliopher blinks rapidly, still processing. “Do you have recommendations?” he asks, automatic.

A ghost of a smile. “I do. You have no objections?”

“Not at all, my lord. I agree it’s overdue. It’s just…” Cliopher hesitates. He thinks of Iprenna and Bavezh. The wan, sober face of Duchess Melissa. Thinks how much she would hate to rule... “You know they will – object, of course.”

His lord’s serenity is unwavering. “Of course,” he agrees. “Which is why we must be careful, and gather information first. Though,” he adds, in a wry way, “It is not as though they would openly disobey Our orders.”

No, Cliopher agrees privately. He meets those golden eyes for a second, perfect understanding passing between them. The Ouranatha wouldn’t dare to disobey; they may, however, find it more convenient to make an Empress instead.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe you got us inside,” Akoni murmurs. He’s clearly trying to keep his face impassive – to match the seriousness of the passing courtiers and scholars – but he’s practically vibrating with delight. His excitement endears Cliopher.

Cliopher manages a smile that, hopefully, looks normal. “It wasn’t an issue,” he says. That much is true; the guards didn’t even twitch when Cliopher brought Akoni up from the city. Honestly he could probably bring anyone he likes inside the Palace, but it helps that Rhodin’s already running a check on his Ela friend. “I’ve been intending to look at some of the magical manuals here, anyway, so I assumed you might like to join me…”

“What are you looking for?” Akoni asks. “You’re not a mage.”

“Can you tell that just by looking at someone?”

“Sometimes. Plenty of people have a spark of magic – not enough to be used, but confusing enough that they could have a small gift. You don’t have any, though.”

Yes; so he’s been told.

“It’s usually a sign of an uncreative mind,” Akoni continues, blithe. “A dull personality - “

Cliopher’s been told that before, too. “Yes, thank you. In any case, there should be plenty of resources here. Really the greater trouble would be narrowing it down…”

Akoni agrees that it would be good to see what the rest of Zunidh considers to be foundational literature, so they ask the head librarian, who fortunately doesn’t say anything about Cliopher’s position or ask after his Radiancy. But she does, naturally, jump to help him; she brings him four books she highly recommends, then shows them the most relevant section of the shelves.

Cliopher’s spent a lot of time in the Imperial Library, but never in this part. He’s bemused to see traces of magic everywhere, like someone wanted to decorate the area as some whimsical declaration of the subject-matter. Tiny glass flowers grow from the shelves – making it damnably hard to pull out books – and the floor beneath them, bizarrely, has transformed into a field of clovers.

That seems unhygienic, Cliopher decides, eyeing a few bees buzzing lazily over the white blooms. Akoni loves it.

“Kip Mdang,” he says gravely. Cliopher’s heart lurches, a little, to hear his old nickname in Solaara. “I love this library. I can never leave. There’s only one solution, we must marry immediately.”

Cliopher laughs, though that idea – even in jest – hurts his heart too. He thinks of Ghilly’s rejection, then brushes aside his old ache. “For my library-access?”

“For this library? Absolutely.

“You may at least sample the selection before making such promises.”

“I thought that’s what we did last night,” Akoni says, and grins when Cliopher sputters. He ducks behind a shelf, saving Kip from response.

They both settle into their respective research. Cliopher skims through a few titles before turning his attention to the librarian’s recommendations.

This initial research is the sort of task Cliopher would usually delegate to a page – but he can hardly tell his underlings, find me anything that I might use to dismantle the Ouranatha. Which is always, ideally, what his lord wants – if they actually just manage some reforms, that would be fine too. But when Cliopher thinks of the Taboos his lord must endure every day – the prayers, the purifications, the distance…

The Taboos are necessary for the stability of Zunidh. Everyone says so, including scholars who have studied the intricacies of Schooled Magic for decades. But sometimes, the things everyone believes can still be wrong.

Cliopher hopes they’re wrong.

The Magics of the Empire advertises itself as a ‘basic primer’ on magic. Cliopher is a little surprised at how basic, in fact; it’s clearly meant for children. Maybe it’s here as a cultural reference? But that can still be a good starting-point, and maybe help him figure out what questions he ought to be asking. Should be a quick read, too. He follows the clover-floors to an alcove with a shining marble table, also glimmering with visible magic, and sits.

It’s even more simple than Cliopher expected. The primer charms him. Not literally; but he smiles to imagine young, eager mages reading it, probably with their parents. Cliopher spares a moment to imagine his Radiancy bent over such a book as a child, carefree and happy. But he would have been the marwn, then. So maybe not.

Did he have books like this, explaining magic in metaphors? Artistic depictions of cats and dogs and birds, and a bonfire on a high hilltop. “Everything has a little magic,” it says. It has pictures of shrews and snakes and fish and rabbits, and humans too. “Some creatures more than others.” Bees, apparently, have a disproportional amount of magic; Cliopher didn’t know that. Slanting words wind around the next page. “Sensing magic is a foundational skill. Let’s try it with fire! A magical fire feels like a static shock when it’s weak, and a sunburn when it’s strong – be careful not to let it hurt you - “

“I thought you were researching?” a voice laughs. “Kip, what are you doing? That’s for children.”

Cliopher glances up, shrugging. “I have roughly a child’s-knowledge of magic; why not start here?”

“I hope you have more than a child’s understanding of language,” Akoni snorts. “You certainly sound like some privately-tutored local lordling, even if you’ll never look it.”

Cliopher certainly isn’t insecure about his literacy skills, of all things, so he just shrugs. “What would you suggest?”

Akoni’s first suggestion isn’t even in the Imperial library, which prompts Cliopher to start dreamily considering an intermundial exchange system among public libraries… maybe a thought to shelf for later. He finally selects one among the books the librarian pulled. “This one is generally recommended prior to University, so I suppose it shouldn’t be too complicated for you.” His voice expresses doubt.

Cliopher shrugs; people in the Vangavaye-ve tend to hear ‘secretary’ and nothing else when he mentions his job; they don’t realize quite how challenging it is, to become even a lower secretary in the Service. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” he says.

“Well. Let me know if you need any help.”

Cliopher doesn’t, although he does several times consult the small dictionary he keeps in his magically-expanded writing kit. Actually, he finds the book fascinating.

The Imperial Library isn’t a ‘lending’ library, but of course Cliopher can remove books at his leisure. He decides he doesn’t want to advertise this fact to Akoni; it’s probably overly-cautious, but the eager mage might try asking Cliopher to check out some books on his behalf. And Cliopher is well aware how casually most Islanders treat books; he shudders a little at the hazy memory of dog-eared, water-stained booklets with broken covers. Good as long as they’re readable, his sister always said to his complaints. But beauty has its own merit, and Cliopher finds something satisfying in a crisp, clean page.

They’re at the library a few hours before Akoni announces he’s done for the day. Cliopher’s guiltily aware that most people don’t have his tolerance for study, so he agrees immediately and starts clearing his pile. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Yes – though not quite what I wanted,” says Akoni, thoughtful. “I’ve heard a great deal of the sorts of magics used by the Imperial priests, both benevolent and… not. I admit I’m awfully curious about the old magics that aren’t used so much, these days. The kinds of things the Emperor used to get information, or track enemies, that sort of thing.”

Cliopher cannot fault him such morbid curiosity. Forbidden magics reached uniquely evil heights before the Fall. “You may have more luck in the historical records,” he muses. “Or perhaps beginning with a search of court-cases.”

“Court-cases?”

Hmm. “Perhaps not,” Cliopher concedes, thinking it through. “Emperor Eritanyr usually did not bother with, ah, judicial proceedings… but the library has a significant section with public records of the Court.”

Including things like ‘who Eritanyr turned into a lizard because they annoyed him,’ and, ‘that time the Emperor got bored and set some courtiers on fire.’

Well; there was more than one time. Eritanyr was fond of fire, though he was usually more creative in his punishments.

“Sounds more interesting than children’s primers,” Anoki agrees. “Maybe we could come back?”

Cliopher smiles; it’s nice to meet someone else with a scholarly inclination. “Of course, anytime.” Then he amends: “Work permitting.”

“Of course. Oh – excuse me.”

Akoni jumps aside as a woman abruptly turns into their little alcove, ignoring them in favor of scanning the shelves. The stranger is hooded in familiar silvery-gray robes. She plucks a tome from the shelves, glances at them, and dips her head in a nod toward Cliopher. She leaves without a word.

“That - that was one of the Ouranatha,” says Akoni breathlessly.

“Right.” Cliopher knows perfectly well what the Ouranatha look like. He suppresses a wave of discomfort, reminding himself that Akoni has no reason to dislike them. To the magic-users of Zunidh, he supposes the Ouranatha are like… well, like being part of the Civil Service, but for magic. Perfectly respectable.

The average citizen – and even many in the Palace – don’t see the way they keep a chokehold on the Sun-on-Earth. How they covetously hide their knowledge, making themselves indispensable simply because no one knows enough to interfere with their dealings.

Akoni is a mage; of course he respects the world’s premier magic-users. Cliopher shakes his head. “Maybe you’ll get another chance to speak with her,” he says, forcing lightness into his voice.

“I hope so,” says Akoni

Back home Bertie is Curator-in-Chief of the university museum. Cliopher sent him an effusive letter of congratulations when the announcement came, genuinely thrilled for his friend.

He knows his own position, ironically, is viewed with nowhere near as much respect. No one back home congratulates Cliopher on his triumphs, or sees merit in his far-off work. Cliopher has accepted this over the years. His family just don’t understand the work he does. That doesn’t make it less important.

It still aches a little when Akoni says, “I hope this is all worthwhile. The Ela were hesitant to send me. The rest of the world… well, you know. You’ve seen how they act toward us.”

“Yes,” says Cliopher.

“Or, well; toward me. I suppose you aren’t even much of an Islander anymore,” says Akoni.

It hurts, but Cliopher’s heard the same sentiment too many times. “I could never be from anywhere else. I’ve done my best to respect my family’s teachings.”

“Sure,” says Akoni. “But I can’t imagine keeping any traditions here.”

And, honestly, it’s a fair point.

They’re at a little cafe in Solaara, not far from the Palace. An upscale sort of place; Cliopher is in his customary red and black uniform, and Akoni some odd, twisting white robes that look vaguely Ystharian. Cliopher feels the inherent justification of Akoni’s rebuke, well aware how laughably out-of-place they’d both appear back home.

A waiter stops by; they both order. Alone once more, Cliopher says, “I try. I practice the dances.”

“Why? What’s the point of dancing alone? It’s boring enough even with family – and even with your thousand cousins, there aren’t any Mdangs here. Unless you’re hiding some secret kids?”

“Certainly not. Though I would like a family,” adds Cliopher impulsively. “One day.”

Cliopher has always wanted a family. A partner, but also children, young babies and young kids and teenagers, who he can teach and guide and know. He grew up in a large family. A huge family, even by Islander standards.

It still feels alien, knowing they’re half a world away.

“You don’t seem dedicated to your current family,” Akoni observes. By the standards of the Vangevaye-ve it’s an insulting remark; it’s also not undeserved.

“I visit them every year.”

“Visit them,” echoes Akoni. “Hmm.” But he doesn’t criticize that, at least, perhaps seeing the hypocrisy.

Of course, Akoni’s probably not planning on staying in Solaara. Much less for centuries.

Cliopher knows that he isn’t… enough. He lives in Solaara, he breathes the Service. He does not regret that. It has always been his destiny to work side-by-side with his Radiancy. Cliopher knows this in his heart. Knew it from the first time he spotted a portrait of the Last Emperor, though they didn’t call him that, then.

Firmly Cliopher says, “I am going to change Zunidh – for everyone. The Islands, too. I’m going to make this a better world.”

And Akoni, like every relative he’s tried discussing this with, just laughs at him. “I suppose you can try,” he says. “There is never harm in trying.”

“Ah, my dear Cliopher. Sit down, please. Conju will have the meal in just a moment.”

Cliopher nods.

It’s not common that he eats with his Radiancy – but it happens frequently enough that Cliopher feels comfortable taking a seat, spreading a napkin over his lap. His lord looks serene and composed as always. Cliopher knows that the Sun-on-Earth must remain composed, of course, but sometimes he still admires how effortlessly his lord can seem at peace.

Though he knows, too, that his lord is more troubled than he appears.

It’s evident in the small things – infinitesimal details no one else would notice. The exact way he keeps his gaze fixed across the table (even though he would never meet Cliopher’s gaze on purpose). The tension of his hands, the way he tilts his chin. Cliopher’s lord is upset about something, and as usual, he cannot voice it.

Cliopher can ask, though. In a roundabout fashion.

“Did you have any particular business to discuss, my lord?”

As Cliopher awaits a reply Conju appears with two junior attendants. They set the table with neat efficiency, not sparing a single movement. Chilled tea – his lord cannot have any liquids or fruit that weren’t heated first, but it can be cooled after. A charred salad, fried meat, fresh bread with already-melted butter. Simple fare; but his lord doesn’t feel the need to feign opulence around Cliopher, which is its own compliment.

His Radiancy regards the food awhile without saying anything; Cliopher lets him think, eating in delicate bites so he’s ready to speak at any moment. At last his lord says, “We can confirm the Ouranatha have been harassing Duchess Melissa.”

Ah.

Doubtless Ser Rhodin reported as much; the Duchess rarely talks to her brother, and would certainly not complain casually. “About an heir?”

“Likely. Though it is hard to say if they know anything.”

Cliopher tries some of the charred lettuce. He’ll never quite adjust to the fact that everything on his lord’s table must be heated.“...Respectfully, my lord, I do not see how this changes anything.”

His Radiancy mulls this over. “You think they are not a threat?”

“I think,” says Cliopher carefully, “That the Ouranatha are always looking to ingratiate themselves, and to renew the old order. They have always wanted you to make an heir; they have often indicated you should marry. It does not follow that they know anything, or have any more targeted intentions in mind. I have not even started the audit yet.”

His lord considers this. Cliopher uses the opportunity to eat; Taboos aside, Conju’s judgment is perfect, as always. His lord’s table is bereft of fresh fruit, but there’s a particularly nice lemon tartlet today.

“Regardless of their motives, they are harassing our sister,” says his Radiancy. “This is – unacceptable.”

Cliopher wishes his Radiancy would refer to the Duchess as his sister in her presence; he feels it would solve a great deal of awkwardness between them. “I agree, my lord. But I confess, I am not sure what to do about it. It may well be months before we have any information worth pursuing; months more, before we can determine a safe course of action.”

Though Cliopher doesn’t doubt there will be something to pursue.

“Yes. I know.” His lord’s lips purse. “There are some days I understand the sort of… unchecked actions, of my predecessors. But that is not the correct path, of course.”

“Of course,” Cliopher echoes. His heart throbs nervously.

They eat in silence for awhile. Cliopher finds himself feeling almost faint. His Radiancy has always supported Cliopher’s arguments regarding fair-trial, an end to the old style of tyrannies. But when the issue becomes personal…

Cliopher spares a moment to wonder whether the old oubliettes are kept in order.

“As a related note,” his Radiancy continues, “The Ouranatha have been discussing whether we ought to revive certain magics, to do with the Council of Princes.”

Cliopher frowns. “My lord?”

There’s a great deal of magic interwoven throughout the Palace; Cliopher doesn’t know most of it. Very little of it, actually. He’s sure there must be some sort of protective magics on the Council chambers, and truth-spells or anti-traitor measures wouldn’t be a surprise. But what else…?

“To make them obey me,” his lord clarifies. “The Ouranatha believe the Council has too much power.”

“I see.”

Frankly, Cliopher doesn’t like the Council. His people back home have always scorned the idea of a reigning Prince or Princess, barely paying them mind; and of course Princess Oriana is useless. But the idea of binding them – perhaps changing their minds, their wills…

Cliopher recalls his visit to the library. In a way this proves why Akoni was correct in wanting to investigate the old magics; letting those evils fade from living memory will only cause them to be revisited by the ambitious. And the Ouranatha are ever-ambitious.

“It is unacceptable, of course,” his lord continues. “But you understand the Ouranatha are sometimes…” his lord trails away.

“Overeager?” Cliopher suggests.

“Yes. Quite. I have forbidden them. But do let me know if you notice any unusual behavior, among our Council.” If Cliopher thinks anyone has been bespelled, he means. “I am unsure if this behavior is related to our sister, but it is rarely a good thing when they start to scheme.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Silence falls again. Cliopher picks at his food, the delicacies suddenly tasteless.

“Well,” says his Radiancy at last. “Let us move to practical things. You were making a report, I recall, on the taxation issues in Western Dair…?”

Chapter Text

“So I heard you’ve been seeing someone,” says Kiri the next morning.

They’ve just finished the daily briefing. Cliopher sighs, gathering his notes. “I am certain everyone is too busy to gossip about my personal life.”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that,” she says cheerfully. “You broke the hearts of a dozen secretaries, Sayo Mdang.”

Cliopher snorts. “I’m sure! It ought to be past the point of gossip, anyway. Ser Rhodin has even cleared him. I’m being more careful, this time.”

“Oh, no one blames you for that,” says Kiri, as though Cliopher wasn’t scrutinized for decades after they executed his last paramour for treason. “But I’m glad you’re finally dating someone! Although I don’t know where you’ll find the time…”

Frankly, Cliopher doesn’t either. He loves his job; he loves making a real difference on Zunidh. But his schedule could be described as ‘erratic’ at the best of times; he’s well aware he could use more sleep. “It’s nothing serious yet,” he evades.

Kiri eyes him. “Well. If you ever need a break, let me know. You really should delegate more. Or maybe get an assistant or two..."

“I’ll keep it in mind,” says Cliopher, with zero intentions of taking her up on the offer. “Now, tell me how the new staff are doing?"

The next time Cliopher meets Akoni he dons a sarong he often wears back home. He cannot wear the most traditional Islander garb – he doesn’t have any here, except an old formal grass-skirt that probably doesn’t fit. But he does have at least a few items of clothing that aren’t part of a uniform.

Akoni doesn’t appear impressed by this effort. “You look tired,” he observes as they stroll through the city. “Too old for a night out?”

“Not quite yet,” says Cliopher, rueful. Though he is tired, like most days. Nothing unusual about that; he’ll drink some extra coffee in the morning and carefully shelve away the memory of his doctor’s warnings about caffeine. “Now, you had somewhere in mind?”

“Yes. Not terribly special; there’s a little place that does drinks and a trivia night.”

“I do enjoy trivia.”

“Excellent. Don’t feel bad if I get more answers, though,” Akoni grins.

The night’s a bit chill for walking; Akoni uses this, perhaps, as an excuse to sling an arm over Cliopher’s shoulders. Cliopher finds himself smiling rather stupidly, then stops at once.

Every relationship is allowed its honeymoon phase, certainly. But Cliopher isn’t some lovestruck teenager – although he’s also not the most experienced lover. Cliopher hasn’t had a partner in…

Well. Centuries? Solaaran time really does get confusing.

“How’s your research?” Cliopher asks as they tread over a bridge; the little stream below runs through the city, swollen higher than usual by recent rains. “Your search for a job?”

“I’ve got an interview set up,” Akoni says. “It’s – well, it’s too early to say. But I’m hopeful. I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“But you’re enjoying the city?”

“Oh, yes. There’s always something new to see. I do miss the water, though. It’s not natural living inland like this.” Cliopher can certainly agree with that. “Imagine growing up and never stepping onto a boat…! Maybe I’ll take some trips to the shore one day, if not home.” Akoni pauses, glancing at Cliopher. “Are you alright? You’ve barely been looking at me.”

Cliopher winces. He’s trying to keep his head down – which looks strange, of course. “It’s just,” says Cliopher slowly, “I don’t much want to be recognized by people I work with. To avoid, ah. Gossip.”

Gossip is a kind word for the way people will watch and whisper about the Secretary in Chief’s affairs – and at his age!

Akoni startles Cliopher by kissing his cheek. He doesn’t seem offended. “Of course; the tavern is pretty quiet. We can be discreet. Do you promise to keep my secrets, Kip?”

Cliopher feels his face flush. He wills himself to keep composure. “Of course.”

There’s some formula to the request, a hidden meaning he still needs to decipher. He wants to figure it out himself, though. He’s sure it must be something private to the Ela.

“Then I expect you to keep it to yourself if I drink a lot tonight,” adds Akoni, and startles Kip into smiling.

Their destination is a small tavern on the far end of the city – too far for Cliopher’s usual wanderings, and distant enough from the Palace that he feels fairly certain no one will recognize him outside his usual uniform.

It’s not that Cliopher minds being recognized, really. In Gorjo City everyone knew everyone else; in the Palace Cliopher is often around his Radiancy, and thus his lord’s omnipresent rotation of guards. If not there, then he’s attending business all over the Palace, constantly scrutinized by nobility. Cliopher long ago learned to stop caring.

Still, Akoni is new to his life. It’s nice to have one thing to keep to himself, just for awhile.

...to myself and Rhodin’s spies, Cliopher thinks wryly. Well; that’s almost like having privacy.

Akoni’s clearly been here before; the bartender greets him warmly and brings out a drink at once, and then a second – “you’ll love this, Kip,” Akoni insists, before Cliopher can even look at the options – although the slender serving-girl who cleans the tables shies away at the sight of him. Just timid, perhaps.

The atmosphere is jovial. It’s the end of the working-week for many people (civilians who do not run a fifth of the government) and the drinks flow freely. There’s a small stage on one side of the room, and after a few minutes the mage-lights dim. An eccentrically-dressed host leaps to the podium, instructing people to pair up in groups if they want to participate in trivia.

Akoni and Cliopher find themselves joined by another couple, a man and woman. They introduce themselves as Lans and Dubra.

Cliopher, of course, is excellent at geographic and political knowledge. He knows the major imports and exports of every province, the capitals, the rulers and governing bodies, along with odd details here and there. (He is infuriated when the host asks the name of the man who danced over fire in front of Aurelius Magnus, though. Of course the host thinks the answer is Elonoa’a, of course, but Cliopher gives the correct answer anyway and is pronounced wrong. Akoni pats his arm in sympathy while Cliopher seethes.)

Lans turns out to have some good knowledge about botany. Dubra knows all about the latest music-trends and popular books (Cliopher, to his regret, has little time for recreational reading these days). Akoni answers some questions on magic, but there are few of these, and he's quieter as the night goes on.

It’s fun for Cliopher to use his knowledge without any pressure, and their group wins largely due to his efforts. They get a free round of drinks that they frankly don’t need; Cliopher’s head is swimming.

“You really know something about all the worlds, don’t you?” Lans admires. “I love reading, but I had no idea about Ysthar’s folklore.”

“Ysthar has an excellent record of folklore from long before the Empire,” says Cliopher, brightening at the topic. “And a curious mix of religions - “

“Few of which remain, I assume,” Akoni interrupts. “So they’re hardly relevant now; maybe back when it was the seat of the Empire. I wish I could see the old site of the capital, from before the Fall… just to examine the magic.”

“The Palace moved here,” Cliopher says. “Surely you can study the magic well enough from Solaara?”

“You don’t know anything about magic,” Akoni dismisses, which is fair. “But trust me, the spot matters.”

“It would be morbid, I think,” Lans says. “I wonder what’s left where the Palace was? A big empty crater, maybe. I can’t imagine the Palace sitting anywhere else; it was already here when I was born.”

And doesn’t that make Cliopher feel old.

“I’m certainly glad it survived the Fall,” says Akoni as Cliopher leans back in his chair. He’s thinking of the dark halls of the Palace, the frantic people bumping past one another like terrified mice. A fire in the kitchen, and cold everywhere. “And that the Pax didn’t completely crumble, of course! That above everything else.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I had a wild-mage friend who left when he got his magic,” says Lans. “The Pax isn’t so great. Although I guess it would be hard without the lights, and the preservation spells...”

“People managed before,” argues Cliopher. “If we had more wild-mages, they would be able to compensate for certain areas of magic. The little magics the Pax gives us are convenient, not essential.” He knows; he wrote several papers post-Fall on the possibility of the Empire’s built-in magics failing. It would cause chaos for awhile, certainly, followed by a boom of industry. Candle-making would explode. More servants would be hired, to compensate for the minor cleaning-spells.

The biggest issue would be the surge of uncontrolled weather. But if the wild-mages stayed, and if they could be trained to help in their own localities...

“You do not understand the true power of the Pax Astandalatis,” says Akoni, earnest. Cliopher politely refrains from laughing in his face. I have seen the consequences every day, he thinks, picturing the ceremonies, the purification rituals, his lord’s serene and unmoving expression as attendants flutter about; maybe this is why he lets Akoni keep talking. “It is a beautiful peace of magic. I also prefer the wild magic, untamed and flowing… but there is something lovely in binding that, ordering it to hold up the structures of the world. And letting non-mages like you use pieces of it, too.”

“It is a decaying remnant of a dead system,” says Cliopher frankly. “Astandalas Fell; one day the Pax must snap as well.” It’s upheld in part by the rituals of nobility, but the Ouranatha speculate the death of the Last Emperor might finish it off. Cliopher's spent many days with his Radiancy discussing countermeasures in case magic on Zunidh distorts like it did on Alinor.

Something in Akoni’s face twists. It’s just for a second – a raw, angry look that Cliopher doesn’t understand. He leans back.

But Dubra is laughing, unaware. “I think you’ve got the right of it,” she says. “All magical things got shaken up in the Fall; why not the Pax itself?”

“It’s a scary thought,” murmurs Lans. “What if something like the Fall happens again?”

“I’m sure the Ouranatha have looked into the origins,” says Cliopher, hating to use the priest-wizards as any sort of consolation. He knows perfectly well the Ouranatha still don’t know what happened, but the pair nod their agreement. Cliopher can’t help but be aware of Akoni sitting grimly silent at his side.

“Still, I’d feel better if the Last Emperor had an heir,” Dubra continues. “I don’t think I’ll feel quite safe until this one’s gone.”

“Excuse me?” asks Cliopher, hands freezing above his drink.

“Well he clearly did something to cause the Fall,” Dubra says. “The Empire stood for centuries, all well and good, until he - “

“The Empire was a bloated monstrosity of corruption,” says Cliopher, sharp. “And it’s not his fault that Aurelius Magnus didn't create it to cover five worlds. The Glorious One has made vast improvements on Zunidh, for everyone - “

“‘The Glorious One,’” Dubra mimics. “What, are you part of the Imperial Cult? He’s not actually a god, you know.”

It’s almost breath-takingly shocking to hear such open blasphemy here, in the world’s capital. The reign of Artorin Damara has been fabulously popular, especially for those who remember Eritanyr. This is the sort of talk that could get someone executed for treason.

More than these things, it’s an affront to all of Cliopher’s sensibilities. No, his Radiancy may not be a god; but he is a good man. He does not deserve the scorn of these random drunks.

Someone who didn’t even know the primary exports of Solaara, he thinks with disdain, remembering that trivia question.

“He was never meant to be Emperor, anyway,” says Dubra, perhaps not noticing – or not caring about – Cliopher’s rising anger. “He was just some spoiled princeling who got lucky, and probably didn’t have half an idea what he was doing, of course he fucked it all up and we had to deal with the consequences…”

Cliopher jolts to his feet. All he can think about are his lord’s mournful eyes – the gentle almost-smile, the way he’s so, so careful with his words, never wanting a mere whim or off-hand comment to be taken as an order.

Spoiled! The exiled marwn, chained and held aside for the Empire’s use, spoiled!

“And what have you done while he fixes the world?” Cliopher demands, hands clenching over the table. “What would you do better?”

“Calm down,” huffs Akoni. “Quit making a scene, Kip."

“I’ve done more than any of those bureaucrats at the Palace, sitting on their asses all day,” Dubra snorts. Cliopher thinks of his Radiancy disappearing into his study for a mere hour. If he’s lucky, if there’s no crisis... “He’s a shiny, dumb symbol, that’s all.”

Before Cliopher can respond – perhaps with fists - he’s jerked to the side. Akoni squeezes his arm in a grip so painful it makes Cliopher gasp. “Excuse us,” he says, curt, and tosses some money on the table before bodily dragging Cliopher outside.

Cliopher keeps himself fairly fit, and he’s not a small man. But for the first time he realizes that Akoni has a few inches on him, and is broadly-built besides; it’s all Cliopher can do to keep his feet on the ground, stumbling after his partner with pained gasps. He’s tries to pull away, loses balance, and only manages to bang his hip painfully against a table.

Akoni finally releases him outside the tavern, in a small side-alley off the road.

“What – what was that,” Cliopher snaps, rattled. His arm throbs; he tucks it closer to his body, shaken by the sheer surprise.

“That was me, stopping you from getting your face broken,” Akoni snorts. “You didn’t even notice Lans… what’s wrong with you? We were having a nice night, and you looked like you were about to starting fighting those two just because they don’t like the Lord Magus."

“I – they shouldn’t say such things!”

“They’re allowed an opinion, Kip, goodness.”

Cliopher’s shoulders sag. Akoni is right, of course. While it’s certainly illegal to insult his Radiancy, Cliopher finds his lord prefers to be treated as a man, not a god. And Cliopher always tries to protect free speech; it’s important for people to be able to complain about government, about their leaders. The Lord Magus of Zunidh should not be an exception (even if he is).

Akoni reaches out to shake him roughly; Cliopher flinches, hissing a breath between his teeth. “Are you listening at all?” Akoni demands.

Cliopher jerks away. His heart’s beating fast. “There's no need for that,” he snaps. But the fight’s already draining out of him. Cliopher himself wrote the laws allowing citizens to voice their disagreements against political leaders. He sighs. “You’re right, though. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.” As his adrenaline falls, Cliopher also recognizes that getting into fisticuffs with some random civilian would certainly look very bad. Even if the civilian was committing blasphemy; using that as a defense would just get Dubra executed. his Radiancy would be so upset. “But I do not appreciate being yanked about.”

“I was trying to help you. And I wouldn’t have needed to be so forceful if you’d have kept calm! I can’t even blame them, you know, you sounded so damn condescending.”

“She deserved condescension; she was wrong.”

Akoni rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, but still. You can’t go shouting people into agreeing with you. And, I just - “ Akoni sighs, running a hand over his face. “You know, you really do sound like all those nobles up from the Palace, and they make me so angry. The way people stare, the way they talk to me, like they’re better…”

The last of Cliopher’s anger melts away.

He understands that feeling – people thinking him a savage, uneducated. It hasn’t fully left even now; there’s a certain condescension he receives even in the Council of Princes, with rivals he’s worked with over the course of years and years. Whenever Cliopher says something they don’t like, suddenly he’s just a savage-simpleton again, spouting off things he doesn’t understand.

“It’s just that when you talk like that, all officious,” Akoni continues. “Like you’re reading replies from a textbook... we came here for a date and you’re still obsessed with your politics!”

Cliopher feels the fairness of that, too. “My family says something similar when I visit,” he admits. “I will try to be – more mindful. But that’s no excuse for dragging me around like that.”

Something flashes over Akoni’s face, a quick flash of annoyance. It fades immediately, and Cliopher respects the effort that takes. “Fine, fine. I won’t do it again.”

Cliopher lets the matter drop. The night is certainly ruined, so they walk back across the city. Cliopher finds himself deep in thought.

He can’t blame Akoni for his annoyance. Cliopher’s own family has grown cold to him in recent years, disappointed with him. He knows he’s doing something wrong. Cliopher has full confidence in his political abilities, his eloquence in debate, his clever twists of negotiation. But on a personal level, there’s something lacking. He’s an old man with no partner, no children, no close relationships at all; by the standards of the Vangavaye-ve, he’s an abject failure.

“I enjoyed tonight,” says Akoni before they part. “Despite, well – let’s have lunch soon, yeah?” he kisses Cliopher, smiling. And then there’s the odd question again. “Will you keep my secrets?”

“Of course.” Cliopher returns the smile, relieved. He’s glad Akoni has the patience to let him try again.

Cliopher develops a deep set of purple-black bruises on his arm. Akoni gripped him hard, and pulled at a bad angle; it feels like the bone itself is throbbing. Cliopher would be inclined to ask a doctor for a salve, except he doesn’t much want anyone gossiping about the fingerprint-shaped indents, or the rough blotch beside them like a palm.

Oh, well. It will fade in time.

Cliopher has reports he should review. He should sleep, too. But he’s filled with a strange, restless energy, and knows he won’t be able to focus. He finally decides to work on his personal correspondences. Maybe after some letters he’ll be able to sleep.

So with a cup of herbal tea he sits at the little desk in his room looks through old letters. He replies to his mother, his sister, Bertie, and half a dozen odd cousins who’ve written recently. Louya’s penned a long, sprawling argument about her latest conspiracy, which after a moment Cliopher carefully sets aside. He doesn’t have enough energy to tackle that right now.

Then Cliopher decides to write a letter to Basil.

Letters to Basil are always a bit different. Basil never responds, of course – Cliopher can’t be certain he’s ever received a single letter. So Cliopher can’t simply reply to a previous exchange, and instead lets himself ramble a bit about his own life.

It’s nice to finally have some personal news to share. I don’t want to excite Mama by telling her just yet, he writes. But I’ve started seeing someone in Solaara. Another Islander. It’s nice to speak with someone who understands… Cliopher isn’t sure how to end that. His background, his values, his – everything? ...who understands certain things without needing a long explanation about the Vangevaye-ve. And who I feel won’t judge me for being some barbaric savage. Solaara is better than it once was, but change is slow. I hope one day people from the outer provinces can visit here and feel at home.

It’s a strange, sort of sad thing to write. Cliopher is at home here; he’s spent more years of his life in the Palace than Loaloa. But it doesn’t feel like home, still. Even though Cliopher is always treated like something of an outsider when he visits the Islands, these days…

He writes to Basil, I haven’t tried dating in a long time. I hope I don’t manage to ruin this.

Chapter Text

At the start of his long weekend Cliopher stops to chat with Auzevereän by the gates. Auzevereän’s sister has been sick, but he’s cheerfully informed she’s much better.

“Is that all you’re bringing with you, Sayo Mdang?” Auzevereän worries. “You’re going camping, right?”

“How did you know?”

Auzevereän glances aside, shifty. “Ah,” says Cliopher. “Ser Rhodin?”

“His Radiancy would fret if we couldn’t locate you,” Auzevereän evades. “It’s just part of the job.”

“I suppose they should be able to find me for emergencies,” Cliopher concedes. Auzevereän opens his mouth, then closes it. “I’m perfectly capable of surviving in actual wilderness, and the Liaau doesn’t count.”

Auzevereän looks Cliopher up and down with a doubtful air – a primly-kept figure in his red-and-black uniform. Cliopher supposes he can’t fault the guard; most of the court would expire without servants even in their own chambers. So he only gives a wry smile when Auzevereän’s “Yes, Sir,” sounds unflatteringly dubious.

“You at least have a weapon, right?” asks Ghisan, leaning over to join the conversation.

“I have a flint-knife,” says Cliopher cheerfully.

The guards exchange despairing glances.

Cliopher’s a frequent visitor to the Liaau, though not nearly as frequent as he would like. He’s busy, constantly busy, and some part of him always feels guilty for taking holidays when his lord cannot.

But the city can be stifling, even now. Cliopher spent much of his teenage years trailing Buro Tovo through the emptiest islands, sometimes setting out with nothing more than a knife in his hand and the stars overhead.

The reserve is an organized sort of nature, of course – a contained wilderness, watched and monitored and maintained, even though the rangers claim to only preserve the land as it is. Their effort is real; Cliopher believes that much. But walking through the Liaau still feels too much like walking through a place people live.

He has Akoni with him, though, so today he shoves these thoughts aside.

He wasn’t sure Akoni would be able to join him – the invitation was an impulse, and even Cliopher’s own plans were hasty. He often can’t predict when he’ll be free to take a break; intermundial emergencies don’t abide by his schedules. But Akoni leapt at the chance and met Cliopher with a surprisingly full bag for this trip to the reserve.

At least he’s not as ill-prepared as Conju was, Cliopher considers, the one time he coaxed the Groom of the Chamber into joining him. Poor Conju brought along perfume. As though that would do anything but attract predators!

Akoni’s pack probably has sensible things, but Cliopher still winces a bit at the sight of a thick, luxurious bed-roll strapped on top.

Imagine his Buru Tovo’s reaction, to see an islander camping with such fripperies! But even the Islands have city-dwellers, Cliopher chides himself. And not everyone cares to be traditional. There are worse vices than wanting to sleep comfortably.

They take a path Cliopher knows well, but it’s all new to Akoni. He shows an endearing enthusiasm as they walk, spinning to view everything and occasionally drifting from the path to inspect some plant or oddity.

“You should have seen it in the first years after the Fall,” Cliopher says, as Akoni paces around a tree to examine a huge, strangling vine. “People would walk into the old gardens and get lost forever.”

Akoni smiles; Cliopher is not joking. He was one of few who investigated the new, dense jungles that surrounded the Palace when it was transplanted unexpectedly to Solaara. Many people disappeared entirely in those days, though it’s hard to say how many fell victim to fauna, time-portals, or simple suicide.

It’s pleasant just to hear him talk, too. Akoni chatters in a rambling way, like the people back home, which is greatly different from the polished formality of court. He tells Cliopher how his uncle enchanted him a lovely clock before he left, and his aunt – one of the Ela’s seers – gave him a long, ominous prophecy. “Said I need to temper my passions and settle for loss, or I’d come to harm; what kind of advice is that? I almost thought she was warning me not to go, but everyone seemed pleased and encouraging when I left. I don’t know.”

“Is she the zamá? I wouldn’t ignore her, however odd the advice.”

“Oh, zamá is just the title for an old busybody who need some excuse to think themselves important,” Akoni scoffs. Cliopher barely refrains from bristling. “It’s not like Aunt Bela has any other job; I suppose they needed to give her something to do.”

Cliopher bites his tongue. He’d start a fight if anyone in his family insulted Buru Tovo or Uncle Lazo that way. But Cliopher doesn’t know the lorekeepers of the Ela; maybe Akoni’s aunt really is a lazy charletan.

And he does admit, he can’t imagine telling someone to ‘temper’ their passions; Cliopher has spent his whole life chasing a viau. He’s not going to apologize for it, however much his family and friends lament his ‘wasted’ life.

They eat a nice lunch after hiking to a spot that lets them watch the jewel-like glow of Solaara in the distance. “We should find a shelter before nightfall,” Cliopher says. “It’s going to rain.”

Akoni tips back his head. “You’ve been in the city too long. Looks sunny to me.”

“The weather is controlled by magic around here; it always rains during the nights.”

Akoni makes a face. “That’s just not natural,” which Cliopher agrees with. “Impressive magic, though. I wonder if I could do something like that?” He grins at Cliopher. “Wake you up with rainbows at your doorstep every morning, until you’re sick of me.”

“Alas, I do not have a doorstep,” says Cliopher, amused by the image. “Perhaps illusions would suit better than changing the skies.”

“I’ve always been terrible with illusions. I’m much more skilled with living things, small manipulations… emotions,” he adds. Before Cliopher can ask him to elaborate, he turns and surprises Cliopher with a kiss.

It goes on longer than he expects. Akoni finally pulls back, resting his forehead against Cliopher’s in the traditional Islander way. “Will you keep my secrets?”

Cliopher says, “Yes,” following pure instinct.

Akoni grins again. Cliopher glances toward the sinking sun. “We should keep going if we want to find a good place to sleep tonight.”

Akoni’s smile fades. But he agrees, and they start hiking again.

Conju once explained to Cliopher that it’s fashionable among the upper court to be slightly-good at many different things, which sounded reasonable, except then he elaborated that you should not be too good at them. Because expertise requires effort, and one should never appear desperately-industrious, or give the impression they might ever need to use their skills. It was acceptable, therefore, to be able to do light embroidery or play a flute or practice other genteel talents; but one should refrain from being good enough to do these things professionally.

Cliopher hears many utterly stupid things at court, but that one rattled him for a long time.

He thinks of it now because he’s noticed Akoni gets distinctly annoyed when Cliopher mentions anything impressive about himself – treaties and station and even his dancing. It’s the first time Cliopher has ever claimed Aōteketētana to anyone except Buru Tovo, and some small part of him hoped…

He often likes dancing when he goes to the Liaau, with the dirt under his feet and the stars above.

“I never understood the need for the dances; the Ela are shamans. I don’t need dances to do magic,” Akoni dismisses. “Old traditions should be replaced by newer knowledge. Here’s a good spot, do you think?” and he strides away toward an overhanging cliff.

Cliopher tries not to show how much that rocks him. He follows. “There is a great deal of wisdom in the dances.”

“There’s wisdom in books; the dances might have been helpful as tools before we could easily write things down. They’re obsolete, now. I’m not saying they aren’t pretty to watch, but everyone doesn’t need to learn them, and I don’t get why they’re so valued.”

Cliopher frankly can’t find a polite reply to that. But his years at court have given him superb control of his tongue, where once he would have openly scorned anyone espousing such near-blasphemy. Instead he takes a breath and assesses the site where they’ve stopped.

It is a good place for camping. Stone overhead, with the ground sloping away so rain won’t pool beneath them. He nods to himself. “I’ll start a fire,” he offers, setting down his bags.

“Oh, I’ll do that,” says Akoni, and flicks a finger. Cliopher looks down to find a fire crackling unnaturally with no fuel-source. “It should heat things fine.”

Cliopher says, “Oh,” not very happily.

But it’s fine. Akoni’s allowed to do things differently. Cliopher knows he’s old-fashioned. Insisting the Mdangs make the fire would just be petulant.

So he decides to drop the matter, and truly would, except Akoni adds, “It’s the same with worship.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s old-fashioned. Worshiping the sea, and Iki and such; it’s all useless. Even our own legends say the sea does not favor anyone; Iki is the god of mystery, and someone who plays tricks on humans. Why do we worship them? What do they do to deserve it?”

“The gods give many gifts – it’s never a bad thing to be grateful, and polite.”

“Divinity is merely another word for magic,” Akoni says, waving toward the fire. “Bigger magic, sure. But humans make our own fates.”

“I agree with that – but worship need not be transactional.”

“I bet you’re one of those people with a shrine to Lord Damara, too,” Akoni snorts. Cliopher almost flinches. Lord Damara? No one calls him that!

And Cliopher is not – he’d never worship his lord. Pray for him, certainly. Kneel before him, yes, willingly. But the Sun-on-Earth is not really a god. Just a great man, the best in the world.

“I’m not used to walking anymore,” Akoni complains. “But it’s nice we can finally get some time together.” He shakes out his bedroll, inspecting it on the ground. Beckons to Cliopher. “Well, come on.”

“Oh, I’ll just sleep on the ground,” says Cliopher, surprised. Sharing is a nice offer, but he cringes just imagining what Tovo would say. “And we should get some food first. I brought - “

“Not that,” says Akoni, exasperated. “Are you teasing me? You’re upset I made fun of your traditions, aren’t you?”

Cliopher pauses.

He’s not sure why Akoni thinks he’s upset, but it would be a lie to say he’s not – unsettled. He’s been eager to meet another Islander, someone who would understand him; it hurts to realize Akoni doesn’t, not at all.

But maybe that just shows fault in Cliopher; no one back home seemed to understand him, either.

Maybe it would help if he understood Akoni’s perspective better. “The Ela are shamans. Surely your family emphasized the old traditions, worship practices - “

“Are you still thinking about that? Forget the damn gods,” Akoni complains. “It’s not like Iki’s going to come scold us for disrespect way out here.”

Cliopher opens his mouth to reply, but something halts him.

At first he doesn’t even register sound. Just a great shuddering that rattles his bones, stealing his breath. Then the rasp of rock. Cracks and snaps ping through the air; dust-motes flake from the rocky ceiling of their pseudo-cave.

Akoni bolts. Cliopher tries to follow, but he trips – stumbles – he doesn’t see how it happens, but confusingly his foot gets caught. When he looks down he understands better. The ground is shaking and shuddering, fissures opening beneath him. He thinks of the great wounds in the earth after the Fall.

His shout is swallowed under the great rumbling stone. Something hits the side of his face, a falling rock. He ignores the pain and bends down, leveraging his foot from the crevice until it comes free.

The shaking stops as he finally gets away from their camp. Then, with a groan, the rocks come crashing down. Their fire is smothered under it, along with everything else.

Cliopher still can’t see Akoni. Alarm rises in his chest. Could he have been swallowed by another hole in the ground? Tripped and hit his head? He calls Akoni’s name to no response. When that doesn’t work he looks for a trail.

He finds footsteps, broken branches, and starts slowly to follow the path. After a minute of this he hears twigs crack from behind. Someone grabs him.

“What took you so long?” Akoni snaps. He shakes Cliopher roughly; and it must only be concern, frantic and thoughtless, but Cliopher gasps at it wrenches his bad shoulder again. “Gods! Our things – the fire – ugh, my bedroll - !”

“It’s fine,” Cliopher says. “We don’t need it. Are you hurt?”

Akoni pushes him away; Cliopher stumbles. Akoni spins and kicks a tree. “Ugh! I had plans, you know!”

Cliopher isn’t sure what that means. He stifles his irritation, knowing from experience how people react poorly in emergencies. “We should either make a new site or head back down,” he suggests. “We’ll get caught in the rain, but it’s much faster descending; we could lodge at one of the reserve’s hotels.”

They do this in the end. Akoni doesn’t want to find food or water or build shelter so late, with no warning, and Cliopher is worried about secondary quakes. It does indeed rain before they arrive, and they’re greeted with concern by the hotel staff when they reach the bottom. Cliopher requests separate rooms. He wouldn’t usually mind sharing, but they’re both tired. Akoni stares intensely before they part for the night.

Probably worried; Cliopher keeps thinking of that frantic moment searching for Akoni… maybe suggesting the Liaau was a mistake. Akoni seems more accustomed to the cities. He’ll have to find a more appropriate date, next time.

Chapter Text

Cliopher opens his door almost absently when he hears the knock. It’s well past supper and he’s getting ready to settle down with an interesting treatise on innovative agricultural practices in Western Dair. He’s expecting maybe Ludvic or Rhodin with a bit of news, perhaps some apologetic page requiring aid; he startles to see an unfamiliar guard instead.

And, by his side, Akoni.

“Sayo Mdang.” The guard bobs his head. “This visitor says he knows you?”

“Yes – yes, that’s fine. I’ll escort him when he leaves, thank you.” Cliopher watches the guard depart. Turns to Akoni. “I didn’t realize you even knew where I lived.”

“I had to ask around,” says Akoni; so much for discretion. “I wanted to surprise you.”

That’s when Cliopher notices the satchel. Islander-made, clearly, of dyed woven cords. “It’s a bit late,” Cliopher demurs.

Akoni deflates. “I just thought a nice walk… some wine…” he trails off.

Cliopher abruptly feels bad. It’s a nice thought, and Akoni isn’t to blame for Cliopher’s hectic schedule. “I suppose I have nothing pressing,” he concedes. He glances back to his writing-kit, still out in the open. “Let me just grab my sandals.”

He closes the kit and carefully stows it away before leaving; Cliopher has learned to be cautious with his documents.

Akoni cheers considerably as they make their way outside. It’s a nice night for a stroll, Cliopher must admit; the moon cresting toward full, the stars clear and glittering in a cloudless sky. And warm, though Akoni drapes an arm over him as though it weren’t.

Cliopher frequently takes a path up into the mountains, where he can practice his dances. But Akoni steers him the opposite direction – still nearer to the woods, though, and away from the glittering capital.

Cliopher’s vaguely familiar with this path, but shortly after entering the wood Akoni veers them away. They follow a snaking convenience-trail to a small, clear patch of grass under the ridge of a hill. It’s bare of trees here, showing the sky above over the faint glow of some local blue moths.

“What do you think? 

Honestly, Cliopher sees nothing special about it, not compared to the rest of the forest. He likes his own spot much better, where he can look down on the lights of Solaara. But that would require a decent hike, and it’s nice to get out of the Palace at all; Cliopher already feels more relaxed. “I approve,” he says, in his most officious voice. “You said you had wine?”

“And the best part is it’s private here,” Akoni tells him. He indeed pulls a full bottle from his satchel, and two metal cups, which explains all the clinking. They drink; Akoni barely waits for Cliopher to lower his cup before leaning forward.

Cliopher abruptly feels very stupid. Akoni kisses him, hands wrapping around his waist. Oh. A private place. Wine; Akoni wants to have sex with him.

It’s not that Cliopher has anything against the idea of sex under the stars (even if this offer seems rather abrupt). But they’re not very far from the city, not at all. Nor the path; anyone could walk by and hear them. Cliopher doesn’t want to imagine the scandal.

He doesn’t pull away at once, though, returning the soft kisses until Akoni starts to tug at his clothes. He leans away. “I’m sorry; I’m really not comfortable doing this outside, I’m afraid.”

“You’re joking.” Akoni frowns. “Do you need more wine?”

“No, no. Why don’t we talk? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Talk. You’re the type to want to be romanced, I suppose,” says Akoni wryly. He finally leans back, but again wraps an arm around Cliopher, squeezing him to his side. This inadvertently puts pressure on Cliopher’s bruised arm. He winces. “Fine, fine. Why don’t you tell me how you came to Solaara?”

That’s certainly an easy topic. They sit down under the stars, and Cliopher describes how he always longed to come here – how people laughed at him. He thinks of the painting is Saya Dorn’s house – but that seems a little too private, something in his shying away under Akoni’s intense watchfulness. He skims over that and talks about the exams.

“Five times?” Akoni laughs. “Not smart enough to know when to stop, either! Well, I suppose you had to pass eventually.”

“The exams were biased against people from the hinterlands,” Cliopher explains.

“Oh, I’m sure that was it,” Akoni snorts.

It was; Cliopher oversaw the revisions himself, many years later. But phrasing it that way sounds petty and self-serving, even though the changes were vital to ensure a more diverse range of successful applicants. It would be lengthy to explain, so he shrugs and takes another drink.

They only have a little more wine; Akoni announces they should return with surprising quickness. But that makes sense, Cliopher supposes. It is late. Still a pleasant interlude to his usual routine.

“I suppose I still can’t see your place?” Akoni complains as they start back. “No? Walk with me to mine, then.”

Cliopher doesn’t feel so tired anymore, so he agrees. Reaching the door they can still hear the loud barking of hounds from Akoni’s neighbor.

Cliopher’s pleasantly loose from the wine. “Thank you for inviting me – it was nice to see you today,” he says. He kisses Akoni sat the steps, turning to go.

But Akoni catches his wrist. “You’re leaving?” he demands, baffled.

“...I… yes? It’s rather late.”

“Are you kidding? We haven’t had sex in weeks,” Akoni says, exasperated. “You were talking about yourself all night, and now this? Are you trying to tell me something?”

Oh. Cliopher hesitates.

He’s not really in the mood for sex – but, then, he so rarely is. He enjoys sex alright when it happens. It’s just something he doesn’t think about much at all. He’s gone years and years now without a partner; it never bothers him.

But he knows that most people think about sex quite a lot – some of them even daily, which is bizarre. It’s not fair to expect Akoni to refrain for his sake. “I suppose that’s true,” he agrees, thinking a little wistfully of his bed back home; he expected to be asleep by now. “It certainly wasn’t intentional. I’ve just been busy.”

“Well you’re not busy now; come on.”

Cliopher lets Akoni tug him inside. Straight past the entrance, the sitting area, and to the bedroom, where they start removing clothes.

Even as he carefully folds his robe, Cliopher absently considers what his schedule will look like. This shouldn’t take long, but it will probably be another hour before he gets back to his rooms. He can probably skip reviewing his speech for the next Council of Princes – it’s already been about finalized, and he can make minor adjustments on the fly if need be. He really needs to finish writing a letter to the Prince of Haion City, though, who’s currently dealing with a flood in his own province…

Cliopher startles a little when Akoni pulls him to the bed, latching hungrily onto his mouth. When Akoni squeezes his arm he winces. “Careful,” Cliopher breathes. The bruise is still dark and blatant; he squirms into a better position.

Akoni, poised over him, barely notices. He presses Cliopher against the bed, who tries to relax. Sex is fine, he reminds himself. It’s not something Cliopher indulges in frequently, or thinks about; but he almost always enjoys it when it happens.

Almost.

Tonight, unfortunately, he’s just… uncomfortable. He runs his hands over Akoni’s back, squeezing at him, trying to stimulate something. But Akoni’s heavy and too-warm and the whole thing leaves him feeling trapped instead of aroused. This was a bad idea.

But Cliopher is nothing if not committed once he decides on a course of action. He’ll relax eventually, he thinks.

Then Akoni reaches down between them, pressing, and. No.

Cliopher jolts again, trying to lean away – not that there’s anywhere to go. “I’m not at all prepared for that,” he manages, more startled than anything.

“I’ll stretch you, I’m not a monster,” Akoni says. Cliopher flinches, again, as three dry fingers curl up his entrance.

It’s been years and years since Cliopher had sex; that’s not happening easily, nor painlessly, especially given Akoni’s clear impatience. “Not tonight,” he insists. “I can... use my mouth - ?”

“Fine,” Akoni snaps. He hefts himself off Cliopher, who stiffens again as it jars his arm. “Hurry up.”

Cliopher wavers. For a moment he thinks about leaving. He isn’t enjoying this; he doesn’t think he’s going to enjoy this. He’d honestly prefer to get a head-start on his morning paperwork.

Which is exactly the sort of antisocial attitude that’s always angered partners in the past. Sex might be a distraction, but sometimes Cliopher wishes he wanted it more. Just to make things like this easier. Just so people wouldn’t get upset, when he isn’t…

Well, it won’t take long. Maybe he’ll enjoy it more once he relaxes.

He gets on his knees. It’s an odd feeling; Cliopher makes obeisances to his Radiancy every day, and that stopped feeling awkward long ago. It’s jarring to kneel in front of anyone else.

Akoni stands naked in front of Cliopher. He curls a hand around Cliopher’s skull. Cliopher realizes his own body isn’t interested in the proceedings at all; Akoni’s erection bobs stiff and straight, though. Cliopher reluctantly leans forward.

He can do this, at least. He’s always liked oral sex – there’s a certain artistry to it, a satisfaction is wringing pleasure from a partner. He’s never made the comparison aloud, but he’s always thought of it like weaving ropes – lots of small, strange gestures twisting and combining into a finished product. The result is immensely satisfying.

And he enjoys the firm warmth in his mouth, sliding between his lips. For a moment Cliopher starts to relax – it’s easy enough to shift back and forth, to concentrate on moving, swirling his tongue, sucking and licking – the mindlessness helps his tension fade.

Then Akoni’s grips his hair tight and starts to thrust.

Cliopher chokes; it doesn’t slow his partner. Akoni’s thick and heavy in his mouth, jamming into the back of his throat at a brutal pace. Cliopher makes a muffled sound of protest. He tries to pull back, pushing at the strong thighs in front of him, but he has no leverage; Akoni holds him firm and keeps going.

Does he realize Cliopher’s trying to get away? Some men enjoy a certain roughness during sex; Cliopher never has. He can only struggle not to bite down, gagging through the pain. He pushes harder, smacking Akoni’s thigh by pure reflex; in response Akoni clenches a fist painfully around his hair, half-dragging him closer. He can’t breathe.

Akoni stiffens. Salty wet semen floods his throat; Cliopher starts coughing as soon as Akoni pulls back, eyes watering.

Akoni adjusts himself, looking down. Sighs. “Not even interested? That explains it. A medical problem?”

Cliopher – has a lot of replies he could make. In other circumstances, he’d have some witty, cutting remark to say. But for once words desert him. His hands tremble as he pushes to his feet. “What was that?”

“What?”

Akoni looks so guileless Cliopher’s immediate protests die.

He says dumbly, “That hurt.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Cliopher stands there a moment; he feels abruptly ridiculous. “I need to go,” he croaks. He’s trying to sound composed, to summon court-practiced stoicism, which is hard when his throat burns and his eyes water. “I have work to do.”

“Don’t you always?” But Akoni smiles. He wraps an arm around Cliopher and briefly kisses his cheek, not noticing – or not caring – about the mild wince he receives. “I’m sorry if I was a bit rough, it’s just been awhile. We should do this more often.” A beat. “Will you keep my secrets?”

Cliopher says, “Yes, excuse me,” because his mouth still isn’t connected to his brain. He puts his clothes on and leaves as soon as he can.

It’s a long walk back to the Palace, and Cliopher finds himself self-conscious and paranoid every step of the way. There’s no sign of that rushed encounter, nothing but his ruffled hair and aching arm and extremely sore throat. It still somehow seems like people should be able to look at him and know what happened.

But the guards at the gate don’t stop him. There are few people around at this hour, mostly servants who sweep by on their own business. He makes it to his rooms unchallenged.

He gets inside. Checks his writing-kit lies untouched, which is unnecessary but soothing. He tries to start a pot of tea, then stops. He slides to the ground and clasps his hands together, willing them to stop trembling.

He composes himself enough to get up and pour the water. He sets the kettle to boil. He promptly sits on the ground again.

Okay.

The kettle screams; that was fast. Cliopher gets a cup. Places it on his favorite table, by his favorite worn chair. Tucks himself into a blanket. He is alone. There are guards outside at the gate and he is alone.

Finally settled, Cliopher tries to order his thoughts.

What happened tonight was – unacceptable. Unpleasant, certainly. And when he tried to stop -

Cliopher does not see any point in messy, time-consuming sex when it isn’t even enjoyable. The first time he had sex with Akoni – back when they first met – that was fine. But Cliopher is not a man inclined toward gambling; he would rather never have sex with Akoni again than repeat what happened tonight.

He’ll – sleep on this. It’s never ideal to make a decision when distressed. He’ll sleep on it, calm down, and decide how to proceed. There’s no rush; it’s not like Akoni is going to change his mind and follow Cliopher up to the Palace.

Cliopher nods to himself; his hands have almost stopped shaking. He sips his tea and eyes his writing-kit. His mind touches back to the encounter, to his bruises, the unpleasant after-taste in his throat. He gets more tea.

...Cliopher will read one report before sleeping. Just to help calm his nerves.

Despite his scant sleep Cliopher feels much better in the morning. His mind still shies away from memories of the previous night; but even that doesn’t feel as bad with a little distance. Cliopher’s never been interested enough in sex. Sometimes he doesn’t care for it; it was just a bad night. Akoni’s carelessness didn’t help, but…

Well. They’ll talk things through, and one way or another things will improve. Cliopher passes his letter to a page; Akoni should receive it within an hour or two.

It’s an invitation to dine in his own quarters, which should intrigue Akoni enough to accept. And, though it’s cowardly, he thinks this conversation will be easier in the comfort of his own home.

Cliopher’s so consumed with these worries that he almost walks right past an odd scene in the halls.

Grand Duchess Melissa is talking with Iprenna, one of the high-priests. “I don’t have time for your mysterious experiments and exams, and quite frankly I do not care if you believe me,” she says sharply. The Grand Duchess tends to be a mild person, so it startles Cliopher to hear her sound so peeved. “My own court mage hasn’t found any reason to believe I’m influenced. Bother me again and I will report these inquiries, Lord Wizard. Surely you have something more important to be doing?”

By report, she of course references her brother; there is no one else above the high-priests, or indeed herself. But the Duchess barely speaks with his Radiancy, and Cliopher has never known her to leverage their familial connection – even though Cliopher privately thinks his lord might allow it.

Iprenna, very stiff, offers a bow and departs. Duchess Melissa looks up, her eyes meeting Cliopher’s. Her lips purse; she stalks down the hall without another word.

It could mean many things. Cliopher mulls over the possibilities as he enters the Imperial Apartments. The outer guards stamp their weapons and announce him; Cliopher steps inside and provides the ritual obeisances on automation. He’ll tell Rhodin about the conversation later.

His lord waves him up almost before Cliopher can kneel; it still doesn’t prevent his knees from protesting. Is he bruised there, too? Cliopher didn’t notice.

He takes his usual seat, pulling out his writing-kit. His Radiancy isn’t even looking at Cliopher; he’s staring out one of the wide, beautiful windows, the one beside the decorative birdcage, which is sheathed on either side by pulled-back curtains of deep red cloth. Conju changes out those lovely curtains every season, with different colors and patterns, though Cliopher’s never seen them blocking the view.

His lord finally speaks. “What’s first on today’s agenda?”

“There is the Agricultural bill to consider,” Cliopher says – or tries to say; the first words croak from his voice in a mere whisper, then crack apart. He coughs against a sudden dryness in his throat.

His lord’s languor disappears. He whirls. “Sayo Mdang. Are you ill?”

Cliopher hesitates.

The answer is no, of course; one does not lie to the Sun-on-Earth.

Cliopher also cannot explain to the Lord of Five Thousand Lands and Ten Thousand Titlesthat his throat was rubbed raw during sex. He sputters a moment, which provokes another cough.

Golden eyes narrow. His lord’s voice raps out sharp and unyielding. “You are dismissed, Sayo Mdang; send Saya Kalikiri and then rest. We do not expect to see you again for three days, at least; send a page if you require more time.”

“My lord,” rasps Cliopher, the protest automatic.

“I will make it a week if you remain,” says his lord mildly, and so Cliopher has no choice but to repack his writing kit, slink out past the sympathetic guard, and go find his deputy.

Akoni arrives early.

Given Cliopher’s crammed schedule this would usually be a problem. But between his lord and Kiri, he has nothing – nothing! – left to do.

He doesn’t even need to worry about food. He intended to make something himself, except Conju had a word with the kitchens, who promptly sent up several days of packed meals for his convenience. It makes Cliopher’s stomach churn with guilt. He isn’t even sick, which would at least be a justified absence. So instead he just feels ridiculous. He sips honeyed tea and his throat feels much better within a few hours.

So he lays out a luxurious-looking dinner. Cliopher has spent much of the day thinking of the arguments he’ll use, preparing his speech as though this were a Council meeting.

He’s still taken aback when a guard escorts Akoni to his doors. As soon as Akoni enters he brings out a bottle of wine. “An apology,” he says.

- this rather derails all Cliopher’s arguments.

He sits, takes the wine, and silently pours two glasses. Akoni sits opposite him.

“I kept thinking about what happened,” says Akoni, gentle; gentle like Cliopher had expected the night before. “You just – it had been so long, and I was eager...”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology,” notes Cliopher. He’s not sure what this emotion is. His chest feels cold again; he can’t remember the things he wanted to say. It was so easy, planning all morning, to think that he’d be stern and disapproving and righteous.

Cliopher’s quite good at telling people off. But that’s easier to do with politicians rather than friends.

“I am sorry if I was harsh,” Akoni says. “And that you left before I could – return the favor. It’s just that you haven’t seemed interested at all, Cliopher. Even last night. What am I meant to do with that?”

Cliopher doesn’t know. It’s not the first time he’s heard this complaint. And it always hurts, but he just takes it as a sign of incompatibility. (With everyone.)

He finally says, “I am not going to tolerate that sort of thing again.”

“I’m trying,” Akoni says. “I’m sorry if I was a bit – rude, last night. I want to make it up to you.”

“I’m not going to do it again,” repeats Cliopher. Sex. He means have sex, at all, which he really needs to explain -

“Alright,” says Akoni immediately.

“Alright,” Cliopher echoes.

They eat in uncomfortable silence. And Cliopher keeps thinking about his earlier arguments. The ones that seem embarrassing to utter aloud.

It hurt, is the childish complaint that keeps drifting to mind. But Akoni wouldn’t intend to hurt him; it would just be petty, drawing out an argument after apologies have been said and done.

Still. He needs to explain his lack of interest in regular sex, just as soon as he’s figured out how to phrase it. Maybe he’ll write down something; it will be easier to draft the perfect explanation onto paper.

Yes, that’s what he’ll do. After writing a list of pros and cons for the relationship, perhaps. Cliopher has so little time to himself; he doesn’t want to waste it on a relationship that will make him feel like he did last night. But he shouldn’t make hasty choices.

Akoni kisses him goodbye; it doesn’t feel so sweet anymore. Before he goes, he asks, “Will you keep my secrets?”

And Cliopher sighs, “Of course,” as he always does. He wishes he knew what the question meant.

Chapter Text

“Utterly absurd,” says Prince Belu, wringing his plump hands; the action jangles his intricate silver and gold wristbands. The Prince of Western Dair often looks like a particularly desperate peacock, but today’s outfit is even more eye-watering than Cliopher’s accustomed to seeing. Layers and layers of pink and fuchsia fabric nearly swallow the man. “To think that the commoners could keep composed through such a ridiculous number of hours, have that discipline - “

“Excuse me?” asks Cliopher, genuinely baffled. “Many provinces already institute daily instruction for children, Prince Belu. This proposal is just to formalize the matter and ensure parents can’t deprive their children of an education, since they’ll legally need to send them a certain number of days…” he trails off. “Surely you’re not suggesting Western Dair is so much more uneducated than the rest of the world?”

Belu hems and haws a bit, plucking anxiously at some of the fringes on his sleeves; Cliopher privately suspects the Prince just has no notion of how the commoners live, and possibly views them as more inconvenient-than-usual animals.

“I don’t see any problems with this bill,” the Prince of Amboloyo dismisses – a rare enough thing, between the two of them, that Belu sags into his chair in concession. “Except, potentially, the age-ranges involved. Some of the older teens will help their parents in their professions…”

“There are a certain number of excused days. And extra leeway for farmers.”

The Council session passes inordinately fast. There are few real issues – just the usual posturing and grandstanding – which is good, because Cliopher can barely concentrate. He’s so, so tired, and his writing-arm aches.

But he’s trying not to think about Akoni.

His mind skids away from the fact, from a truth he knows. Cliopher isn’t happy with his new relationship. He wants to be happy. He wants to have someone by his side, someone he loves. But…

His arm should be healing; it throbs unpleasantly as he takes notes. Cliopher sighs. Something to think about later.

Rufus is monologuing again. Something else about the education reform; wasn’t he in agreement? “I must say I don’t like the sound of this allowance for ‘regional differences,’” he scorns, gesturing to one section. “I thought the whole point was to standardize the curriculum?”

“Mostly, yes,” says Cliopher. “But there are still local skills or histories that parents will want their children to know. In the Islands, for example, it’s expected for everyone to learn how to build a simple raft and navigate the local rivers; that’s something that could easily be included in a formal lesson. But it wouldn’t be much use in, say, the Kallarrahroo.”

Prince Rufus mouths, build a raft, with an expression so baffled it’s almost funny. He shakes his head. “You’re an odd choice to be advocating for this, I must say,” he switches tactics. “You yourself got to Solaara by studying, didn’t you, Sayo Mdang? Without any particular education outside the usual?”

“That sounds almost like a compliment.”

“It isn’t,” Rufus snorts. “If only you remained there! But clearly our people can educate themselves if they’re really driven.”

“Not everyone would have the opportunity.” Cliopher isn’t sure why Rufus is arguing; he seems to be in favor of the reform, overall. Sometimes he thinks the Prince of Amboloyo just enjoys being difficult.

“And why should they? Let everyone get an education and we won’t have any servants left,” Rufus complains. He doesn’t seem to notice as such a servant quietly refills his water. “And what do our future farmers and laborers need with a formal education?”

“An opportunity to pursue other paths, for one thing; would you have us leave geniuses and prodigies ignored, without any chance to discover their own potential?”

“I can’t imagine it would make any difference,” says Rufus pointedly.

At the head of the Council, his Radiancy – who rarely interjects – finally stirs in his chair. “I believe we have discussed this matter enough,” he says. The Council falls silent. “Let us put it to a vote.”

They do, because no one’s going to contradict the Lord of Rising Stars. His lord must have seen the same thing as Cliopher; the reform passes, with even Prince Rufus grudgingly voting it forward, for all his blustering complaints.

Some part of Cliopher still quells to be back under his Radiancy’s gaze. Cliopher’s noticed his lord scrutinizing him since his supposed ‘illness.’ When he thinks of his lord learning about Cliopher’s private troubles… just the thought leaves him nauseous.

But today the Lord Emperor holds open court, and a lesser secretary can handle those notes. Cliopher busies himself in the Offices, catching up and getting a chance to appraise the new pages. He also pulls out his newest stack of unopened correspondences during a rare lull. He’s always getting letters from someone among his extended family.

Today two catch his attention in particular. The first is from his mother, and it makes his heart sink even further.

We’re all so excited you’re seeing a proper Islander, she gushes. One of the Ela would fit you well – although I hope you don’t plan on wandering forever. He’d be very welcome during your next visit…

She mentions, of course, having told all his friends and family about Akoni. Cliopher sighs; it was a mistake to tell her anything so early. He puts the letter aside.

The other letter he lingers over is from his nephew, Gaudy.

This one makes no mention of Cliopher’s love-life, to his relief. Gaudy has some questions about his own studies, and asks for stories. Cliopher mentioned the education reform bills in his last missive, so he’ll have plenty to say in reply.

Gaudy is the only member of Cliopher’s family who seems to really enjoy his stories – the (much abridged) recitation of long, quiet battles in court, political hedging, contract-negotiations and bureaucratic faux pas. Sometimes Cliopher secretly hopes Gaudy will join the Service.

Then he thinks of his family, his lonely rooms, and now Akoni. The way people sneer at Cliopher whenever he mentions the Vangevaye-ve here, how they brush aside talk of Solaara at home. And he wonders if it’s a selfish thing to want; this life would not be kind to Gaudy.

Maybe he’ll find something better, which still suits his talents. It’s just that Cliopher can’t imagine what that thing would be.

It should be healed by now, thinks Cliopher again, cradling his arm self-consciously while he pushes through the Solaara streets. The bruise has faded a bit. All Akoni did was grab him, that night at the tavern – Cliopher doesn’t understand why it aches so badly. But maybe it’s all in his head.

Cliopher has a plan. A real plan, this time, with notes and everything. He perfectly understands the necessity of clear communication, and he didn’t really say much to Akoni the last time they talked.

But they need to clear the air, however uncomfortable it is. Cliopher can’t see a future with Akoni if thinking about the man always makes him feel so anxious.

Afraid, he thinks. No; just anxious for the upcoming conversation. He doesn’t have any reason to be afraid. Cliopher certainly knows how to talk to people.

Akoni is all warmth and friendliness when Cliopher arrives at his little house. His neighbor’s dogs are quiet, for once, and there’s a beautiful spread on the table. Lots of fish, and even to Cliopher’s surprise fresh pineapple. “I didn’t know you could buy that here,” he says, sitting down.

“It took some searching. You’re in that Palace too often, how would you know?” Cliopher takes a breath, ready to speak, but Akoni barrels on. “Let me tell you – everyone in Solaara takes themselves so seriously! Do you know what someone said to me today? That I should feel lucky the Islands were brought into the Empire, and that they’re glad to see me here, because it’s a sign we’re starting to become ‘civilized…’ What am I meant to say to that?”

Cliopher can sympathize. “You’re meant to grovel and genuflect, I suppose.”

“Quite likely! They’re so condescending… I haven’t heard back about my interview. And you wouldn’t believe how snide people get when I talk about wild magic, like it’s contagious.”

Cliopher listens politely, trying to enjoy the food. He’s good at following the tides of a conversation, and he knows there’s no point bringing forth his concerns until Akoni loses steam.

Except Akoni doesn’t seem inclined to relent; he keeps talking, venting, making himself angrier and angrier. Cliopher eventually stops expressing sympathy, and tries gently to redirect the conversation. “You’re quite new here; I’m sure you’ll find your footing. You’ve been enjoying the city, haven’t you?”

“The city is fine; it’s the people who infuriate me.”

“There are some wonderful people in Solaara; people move from all over.”

“But not from the Islands,” which is mostly true. “As everyone keeps reminding me.”

“You’ll find your place.”

“Where? As some common laborer, a fisher, a shopkeep? I don’t want those things.”

“There’s nothing wrong with honest work.”

Akoni snorts. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to hear you say that! We can’t all be that way, Kip. Content to be a mere secretary - ducking your head and accepting whatever they say about us, for your own ambitions!”

Cliopher’s rapidly losing patience. He doesn’t know why all their meetings are so tense, lately, or why Akoni finds it so necessary to bring up all Cliopher’s faults. Islanders can be blunt, but even so. “You are not angry with me, and I didn’t visit you to be insulted,” he says, rising. “We can talk further once you’re ready for a real conversation.”

Cliopher turns. A hand grabs his bad arm, jerking him back; the pain startles Cliopher enough that he stumbles. “Don’t you dare!” Akoni cries. “You just got here – you drive me mad, you know that? It’s like trying to chat up a stone wall. Talk to me like a person, and maybe we could get somewhere.”

“Let go of me, and I will,” Cliopher says coldly. “I have told you I don’t care to be yanked about. I don’t care for any of your behavior, lately.”

“My behavior?” Akoni shakes him. Cliopher hisses a breath, trying to pull away, but Akoni drags him closer. “If you would just quit being so damn condescending – you’re just as bad as any of these - “

“I am leaving,” says Cliopher, with more frostiness than he’s used in years. “Release me.”

“I made this whole damn dinner, and you can’t even - “

“I said, let me - “

Akoni drops his arm, leaning back. Cliopher barely sees him move; but he certainly registers the burst of pain across his temple, briefly blacking out his vision. He sprawls to the floor.

“Why do you have to make me so damn mad?” Akoni demands. But Cliopher’s thinking of Ludvic, something he said a long time ago.

The first goal in security isn’t to fight, but to get away from the threat.

Cliopher has always been the sort of person to meet fire with fire, to fling himself at threats. But faced with this shock, his heart quails; Cliopher stumbles out the door even before his vision fully recovers.

Alright. Okay.

So this solves his dilemma: there is, indeed, no future with Akoni.

Cliopher spends the first half of the walk back to the Palace in a daze. He stumbles through the streets almost blind, even with the setting sun glinting on the horizon. He didn’t expect…

Well, but why didn’t he expect it? Akoni hasn’t been gentle with him. Cliopher has terrible taste in partners; he really should have seen this coming.

He’ll write a letter, Cliopher decides. A better one. He’ll tell Akoni that he expects to never see him again, that if Akoni approaches the Palace the guards will throw him out. Cliopher has no intention of actually giving the guards such orders – Rhodin would come to interrogate him the same day – but it should be sufficient to forestall further contact.

Cliopher’s surprised that his relief at this idea entirely eclipses any wistfulness for Akoni. He really should have ended things before this.

Cliopher’s so absorbed in these thoughts Palace that it takes a moment to register the buzzing crowd outside the gates of the Palace. He lingers for a moment behind it, baffled. Then one of the guards spots him.

“Sayo Mdang!” The guard pushes through, ignoring grumbling courtiers. “With me, if you please; the Glorious One has been asking for you.”

It turns out there’s been a security breach – though no one is able to say what kind, or when, or if there’s still a threat. Three more guards join Cliopher’s escort on the way to his Radiancy’s chambers, which seems excessive. They deposit him with the guards outside the Imperial Apartments and hurry back to their posts. Pikabe and Ato, today.

“What happened?” Cliopher asks. “No one has been able to tell me.”

“An explosion over by the wizard’s tower,” Pikabe says. “Commander Ludvic is there with his Radiancy, and about a dozen other guards… It might be nothing. The Ouranatha, you know.”

That slows Cliopher’s heartrate considerably; the Ouranatha have been known to involve themselves in strange experiments. Years ago, before his Radiancy’s reign, there was a time they blew straight through seven different rooms trying to create an elixir to extend life. “Should I join them?”

“No, he wanted you secured here just in case,” says Pikabe. “You’re not a mage, anyway.”

As people keep reminding him. But Cliopher doesn’t argue, and steps inside.

He finds Conju dusting, even though such minor chores are managed by the Pax magics these days. “Cliopher! I’m so glad…” Conju double-takes. “Are you alright? Your face is all red on one side.”

Cliopher stares at him blankly a moment. “Oh – I fell asleep on a book,” he finds himself saying.

His rooms are over half an hour away at a sprint, so the lie is ridiculous. But it sounds like something Cliopher would do. Conju rolls his eyes. “You truly need to sleep more; but that’s a silly thing to say when you’ve been pulled away like this, I suppose. Sit down, I’ll get you some tea while we wait.”

Cliopher obeys; Conju tuts a bit when he comes back. “And you’re a mess, too,” he disapproves. He fetches a comb.

So Commander Omo joins them to find a mildly-bewildered Cliopher sipping tea on the couch, Conju fluttering behind fretting over his short hair. The guard snorts from surprise. He covers it quickly, but Cliopher already feels better. Things can’t be that bad if he’s hiding a smile. “Ludvic, what is this about? Is his Radiancy alright?”

“Yes. A false alarm,” says Ludvic succinctly. “You may return to your quarters,”

Conju squawks in indignation, tugging harder at Cliopher’s hair. “False alarm? There was obviously an explosion!”

“His Radiancy,” Cliopher presses.

Ludvic tips his head toward Cliopher. “I wouldn’t leave if he were in danger. There was an explosion. Some initiates said they were, ‘testing the edges of schooled magic…’ I couldn’t say what that means. But the Glorious One examined their work and just told them off for being incompetent.”

Cliopher sighs with relief. He immediately winces. “Conju.”

“What? You need to take better care of your hair, really.” Conju tugs the comb through a knot; Cliopher winces again. “There, much better. I can recommend some products…?”

“No, thank you.” Cliopher rubs his head and rises. He looks up to find Ludvic studying him with an unnerving intensity. He recalls Conju’s question about his reddening face; how long does it take for a bruise to form? “I assume I can go back to my rooms?”

“Yes, you’re free to go.” Ludvic frowns a moment longer, shakes his head, and leaves.

For once there are no interior guards; no need, with his Radiancy elsewhere, probably swarmed by all his protectors. The sun fell ages ago; sleep sounds inviting. “Good night, Conju.”

But Conju halts him. “Wait - are you sure you’re fine, Cliopher?

“Of course. I’m relieved to hear there is no danger.”

“You just seem unusually distracted,” says Conju delicately. “It’s not like you.”

Cliopher hesitates.

It would be nice to talk about the whole thing, to get another perspective. Conju would sympathize with him. The problem is that Conju would also gossip. Not maliciously; he’s professional, and discreet when things matter. But he’d consider this a potential threat to Cliopher’s safety. He wouldn’t necessarily be wrong to do so.

Conju would go straight to Ludvic.

Cliopher doesn’t want to imagine that conversation. Ludvic would be kind and polite and brief, then order Rhodin to grill Cliopher for specifics. He might even set up a guard, tell everyone to watch out for Akoni and forbid him entry… that’s all assuming he doesn’t go out and arrest Akoni the same day…

And what if Ludvic told his Radiancy? He might need to, if he determines there’s any chance Cliopher was threatened into revealing state secrets. He wouldn’t, of course; Cliopher learned his lesson with Adelia.

He can’t imagine telling someone, telling his Radiancy, about the horrible details. About the earlier bruises, or explaining why Cliopher allowed it, or the sex -

He just wanted a relationship to work.

No; there’s no point talking about Akoni. It would spiral into a huge mess, and it’s unnecessary. What happened is already relegated to an unpleasant memory; there’s no need to get the whole palace up in arms because the Secretary in Chief had a spat with his (ex) partner.

Someone Cliopher will likely never speak with again.

“Just a bit tired,” he tells Conju. “I might stay in and get some extra paperwork done, I think.”

“What, to relax?”

Cliopher laughs. “Just to sort my thoughts.”

Conju clicks his tongue. "Cliopher, I do wonder about you sometimes... But as long as you're happy..."

Chapter Text

“You really should request closer rooms,” Conju complains as they stroll the garden.

“I like my rooms.”

“They’re small, Cliopher.”

“They serve me fine.”

“It takes you forty minutes to walk either way! And it’s tiring to visit. Think of how much more work you could do with another hour freed up,” Conju coaxes, hopeful.

Cliopher does, dreamily, consider this a moment. “But then I would never exercise at all,” he points out. Some other part of his schedule would take precedence.

“Think how much faster you could respond to his Radiancy in an emergency.”

Cliopher knows his friend is just trying to appeal to his own sense of priorities; it’s working. The thought of making his lord wait forty minutes for Cliopher to respond in an emergency daunts him. “Maybe I’ll look into it,” he says, with no intention of doing so. Conju's huff means he recognizes it.

It was a long day, despite the unfortunate fact that Cliopher barely saw his lord at all. The Lord Magus has been wholly occupied with the explosion by the wizard’s tower, which apparently destabilized some crucial ritual-items…

In short, Cliopher is not likely to see much of him for another two or three days. Which means most of his Radiancy’s work has been delegated to Cliopher himself; his hand is sore from writing. Maybe he should consider Kiri’s suggestion of getting his own secretary.

“So I heard you’re seeing someone?”

Cliopher jumps a little. “What? Don’t look at me like that,” Conju laughs. “Everyone knows, with the guards taking him back and forth from your rooms…” Conju gives him a suggestive little smile. “You’ve never let any partners into your own rooms before.”

That’s true. He shouldn’t have let Akoni in, either.

Conju’s smile fades at whatever he sees on Cliopher’s face. “Ah,” he sympathizes. “Not going so well, after all?”

Cliopher presses his lips together. “No worse than usual.” Conju winces. “Nevermind that. What happened with the man you were seeing? Bartholomew, I think?”

Conju huffs, perfectly willing to take the bait. “Oh, that one. You won’t believe when I tell you how he behaved when we dined last week...”

Cliopher lingers around the Offices most of the day. Several opportunistic rulers seem to have taken his lord’s distraction as an opportunity to slip through odd requests – as though Cliopher wouldn’t be the one dealing with them anyway, he thinks with annoyance. Just extra paperwork. And then of course there are nobles who refuse to deal with Cliopher at all, and keep sending messengers to pester Cliopher for a minute with his Radiancy, as though any of their complaints about border-encroachment or taxation or trade must be handled right this second.

The Princess of Jilkano-Lozoi makes such an extended series of huffs and hissing growls when Cliopher suggests ‘setting up a meeting’ that he genuinely asks if she needs a doctor; this doesn’t go over well.

But there’s truly nothing urgent, so Cliopher gets out earlier than usual. He returns to his rooms thinking maybe he’ll try playing his oboe tonight. After reviewing some paperwork, and maybe going through one of those primers on magic he hasn’t gotten around to reading.

He’s just sat down with some coffee and his writing-kit when someone knocks upon the door.

Cliopher eyes it, weighing the odds that it might be a page, a guard, a friend, or an irate noble. The last, at least, is unlikely; most of the lordlings around here wouldn’t deign to come down the Alinorel wing to pester him in person. This thought is reassuring, so Cliopher answers the door.

He immediately regrets it.

“A visitor for you, Sayo Mdang,” says a cheerful guard. One of the newer recruits, because Cliopher doesn’t know his name.

Beside the guard Akoni offers a pleasant smile. He’s holding a single flower. Cliopher doesn’t immediately respond.

He doesn’t want to speak with Akoni; there’s no value in it. Their relationship ended the second Akoni struck him. There’s a code for physically-threatening friends and family; Cliopher just needs to turn to the guard, say it, and close the door.

But what Cliopher wants less is for Ludvic or Rhodin or, worse, his Radiancy to hear what happened. And if he tells the guard to drag Akoni away, they’ll follow up. Rhodin will pry. That’s his job.

“Thank you,” Cliopher tells the guard, who salutes with another smile before he leaves. Cliopher reluctantly moves to let Akoni inside.

He lingers by the closed door, though, and steps back when Akoni tries to put a hand on his arm. “Speak quickly, please,” says Cliopher in his most professional tone. He ignores the proffered flower. “Explain why you’re here.”

“We left things on a tense note yesterday,” says Akoni, to Cliopher’s disbelief. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Tense?” Cliopher echoes, unable to help himself. “You hit me in the face.”

“You were making me angry,” says Akoni with no sign of remorse. “It’s the way you talk, Kip, like you’re better than everyone - “

“You hit me, and now you’re blaming me,” Cliopher asserts. “My letter was clear; we have nothing more to discuss.”

“Now that’s not fair, when I came all this way to apologize!”

“I haven’t heard an apology. It would not change my resolve, regardless. I assure you that I meant everything I wrote. I do not want to see you again.”

Something twitches over Akoni’s face, the stirrings of anger. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You can’t. I love you, Kip.”

Cliopher laughs, short and unamused. “Do you? We must have different definitions. Quite frankly I'm most insulted that you think we could simply gloss over what happened. And that I'd allow this to continue..." If nothing else allowing a violent man into the Palace is a serious security issue. Cliopher's more professional than that. "Get out.”

“No.”

“I’ll call the guard back if I must.”

“You’re not listening to me!”

“You’ve said nothing worth hearing,” Cliopher snaps, and that’s when Akoni hits him again.

It’s a surprise, but not like before. Cliopher staggers but keeps his footing. He took part in more than a few scuffles as a teenager. Cliopher raises an arm to strike back – and then gasps, reeling, as something in his chest tugs him to a halt.

What is that ?

Akoni shoves him. Cliopher crashes into his table, toppling over a chair. He feels something wet burst along his upper arm, where the table-edge cut him in the fall. It’s hard to breathe.

He tries to kick at Akoni, to shout for help; nothing happens.

“I should have known you’d be like this.” Akoni’s foot slams into his chest; Cliopher curls over himself, raising his arms. “Everyone back home talked about you, you know? Selfish Kip, always thinking of himself, his own ambitions… No time for family, no time for anyone else. Not even me, apparently!” Akoni pauses as though waiting for a response. Then he shakes his head, visibly composing himself. “I’ll come back once you’ve thought things through. Okay? When we’re both a bit more calm.”

He leaves, thank all the gods. Cliopher breathes hard and stares at the door.

I’m supposed to escort guests to the gate, he thinks stupidly. The flower rests beside him, soft yellow blossoms flecked in red.

His ribs ache. More blood pools under his torso. Cliopher can’t imagine any reason to rush, so he takes a few deep breaths, waiting for the pain to ebb. He finally pulls himself to his feet.

Okay.

The pain isn’t that bad – he’s certainly experienced worse. He’s still shocked.

Cliopher finds himself touching his aching ribs again and again as he staggers toward his bathroom. His next course of action is obvious; Cliopher no longer has a choice. Akoni is much more volatile than he realized. Cliopher needs to find Commander Omo.

It’s going to be a miserable, excruciating conversation. Since Akoni’s bold enough to attack Cliopher within the Palace they’ll probably have to inform his Radiancy about the potential security risk of Cliopher’s aggravated lover – he cringes at the thought - and Conju will fret and fuss for weeks, but at least this will be over. He’ll never see Akoni again. It’s fine.

Cliopher wipes away the blood and discovers the edge of his table opened a long cut down his arm – the one that previously hadn’t been injured, so now his whole upper-body hurts in some fashion. He’ll need to see a doctor about his ribs, too. It’s still hard to breathe, even as his heart-rate slows. Cliopher already wears a light powder to cover the bruise under his eye (Conju must have noticed, because he gave Cliopher an odd look this morning.) He feels abruptly ridiculous. Of course Akoni’s violent; of course he was going to escalate. It was stupid to let him in.

Eventually the water runs clear; he wraps his wound loosely. A doctor will have to check it soon, anyway. He conceals it under a robe and leaves to find Ludvic.

A guardsman points him toward the barracks, so Ludvic must be off-duty. Not that any of them are ever really off-duty. Ludvic’s quietly pleased to see Cliopher, which only makes Cliopher feel worse. Cliopher’s rarely sought his friend here.

Commander Omo, quite unlike Cliopher, tends to be brief in speech. He says, “Good evening, Sayo Mdang,” and waits.

“I wanted to speak with you about something,” Cliopher starts. And then stops.

There is a security risk, he wants to tell Ludvic. Akoni seems intent on pursuing him. He may become violent. He needs to be barred from the Palace; he’s a mage, so Cliopher and his belongings should be checked; incoming mail should be screened (although of course it’s already screened). Rhodin’s agents should be informed. Etc.

Nothing comes out.

Do you promise to keep my secrets? Akoni asked him again, again, again.

Akoni is a mage.

Cliopher is, apparently, an idiot.

“Cliopher? Everything alright?” Ludvic frowns at him.

“Yes,” says Cliopher’s voice without his consent. His fist clenches. “I was wondering about the incident with the Ouranatha.”

Cliopher was not, in fact, thinking about that security breach at all. An entirely different sort of terror trickles down his spine. Has Akoni somehow cursed him? Gained control of him?

There’s… there’s a lot someone could do with control of Cliopher, with access to his Radiancy, the Council, the Offices.

Ludvic’s face clears. “Of course. I know his Radiancy asked you to look into them; I don’t think the accident had anything to do with that. Just some misplaced experiment that went off.” Ludvic shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s related, but one of their new initiates is a wild mage.”

No, no, no.

“Did you happen to get his name?” asks Cliopher faintly.

“No. His Radiancy was interested; but I don’t claim to know anything about magic.” Ludvic looks him up and down, frowning again. “You were sick just recently, weren’t you? Let me walk you to your rooms.”

“Right,” says Cliopher, distant. Ludvic’s frown deepens; he curls a hand over Cliopher’s arm.

If he feels the bandage underneath, he doesn’t say anything.

Okay. Facts. Cliopher needs to consider what he knows.

He starts with a test.

He makes small-talk with a guard in the hallway, just in case the problem was with Ludvic in particular. Every attempt to broach his injuries – even without mentioning Akoni – leads Cliopher into asking after the man’s health, his family, etc. The guard looks happily oblivious when they part ways.

He heads toward the medical wing so someone can look at his arm. His feet turn around halfway there.

Cliopher goes to his own rooms and brings out his writing kit. He tries to write about what Akoni did; he only manages to shakily smear ink over the page. He tries to list his injuries, imagining a doctor’s visit where he provides no context. After a minute twitching his quill-pen over the page he manages to write, bruise. That’s it.

Cliopher doesn’t know much about magic; he accepts this. He’s always thought his lord had that area well in hand. But he has no idea how to proceed if he can’t bring the enchantment to his lord’s attention. What does he know? What loophole could exist?

Akoni, he reasons, can’t have complete control of Cliopher. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been any need to hit him, to scream at him for trying to leave. Cliopher’s actions only change when he tries to reveal Akoni’s ‘secret’ – which is something.

But when Akoni visited and hurt him… Cliopher tried to fight back. He did, but he couldn’t. His whole body froze.

Was that fear, or magic? Cliopher doesn’t know. He doesn’t like either answer.

After thinking awhile, he tries to write a short directive for the guard: Do not permit Akoni Ela to enter the Palace of Stars.

His hand jolts. A long line of ink loops over the page, illegible. Cliopher can’t even write that much. Maybe because he knows Rhodin would investigate? Which would ultimately still lead to Akoni’s actions coming to light.

Or could Akoni’s spell bind him more than Cliopher realizes? It’s not as though Cliopher would be able to tell.

Cliopher’s position inherently includes the risk of political assassination, enchantment, blackmail. He accepts this. But he also trusts Ludvic and Rhodin, along with all the other Imperial guards. He never expected to feel so vulnerable in the Palace of Stars. If he can’t physically defend himself, can’t ask for help, can’t warn anyone…

Could he just leave?

Cliopher loathes this idea, but he gives it fair consideration. If he departs of his own free will, after requesting leave through the appropriate channels – well, his lord would allow it. But it would be a temporary thing; Cliopher refuses to abandon his work, abandon Zunidh and his lord, because of one violent man.

If Cliopher left without any announcement… well, he suspects that’s not possible. It holds the same issue as banning Akoni from the Palace; such unusual behavior would raise alarms. Cliopher trusts that Rhodin would investigate, and then the spymaster would learn what happened.

His best guess is that the spell halts Cliopher from doing anything that would reveal Akoni’s secrets based on Cliopher’s expectations. Which precludes essentially any plan that he could enact. His only hope is that someone will notice his injuries or behavior without any input or effort from Cliopher himself.

Cliopher is not satisfied with this slim possibility. He isn’t someone who sits idly by, waiting for others to solve his problems. There has to be something he can do.

He just can’t imagine what.

Chapter Text

After checking his injuries (given that he can’t get the more thorough care he expected from a doctor) Cliopher settles onto his couch and writes out a to-do list. Frustratingly he can’t include anything that would incriminate Akoni if something stumbled over the papers, but he works around that with vague references. The first task on the top of his list: Investigate magical vows.

He wishes he could delegate some part of this mystery – but he can’t, of course. He’ll need to wake early and stop by the Imperial Library. It might be worth writing his cousin Zemius, too. He’s pretty sure his misplaced vow will let him do that; Zemius is excitable enough to ramble on and on without wondering over Cliopher’s sudden interest. And he might have some knowledge of the Ela’s traditions, in particular, which is what Cliopher really needs.

At the first bell after midnight Cliopher finally puts his notes aside and rests. It’s a troubled sleep, his mind buzzing with ideas, but Cliopher is accustomed to getting his rest under great stress. Eventually he drifts off.

He shifts when someone else sinks onto the bed. “Hello, Kip,” says Akoni.

And suddenly Cliopher’s wide awake.

He scrambles upright, instinctively swinging. His hand halts before he touches Akoni, though. The mage just laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you a pork-bun. I thought it might be nice to go for a walk before our days start.”

Cliopher tries to hit him again.

“It’s just me,” says Akoni, amused. “What are you doing?”

“How did you even get in?” Cliopher asks, amazed almost past the point of fear. He knows there’s some amount of magical protection on his room, like most rooms in the Palace.

But Akoni’s a mage.

“I got a job here! I don’t need permission to get into the Palace. And you vowed to keep my secrets,” Akoni explains. “My magic is all wrapped up in you, now. Privacy spells won’t work. You let me in.”

“I did not!”

“You did, before. It counts.” Akoni smiles. “You don’t really want me to leave, Kip.”

Cliopher is so outraged at the stupidity of this remark that words fail him. Akoni steps aside. “Get dressed and we can eat. We need a nice morning together, after this week.”

Cliopher opens his mouth. Closes it.

Oh, he realizes with a calm sort of dread. Akoni’s just insane, isn’t he?

Because that’s really the only explanation. He looks at Cliopher with a hopeful smile, as though it doesn’t even occur to him that maybe Cliopher wouldn’t want to share a cozy breakfast with the man who beat him to the ground and kicked him in his ribs.

Akoni’s smile falters into confusion at Cliopher’s non-response. Then he shrugs, exiting the bedroom.

Cliopher dresses slowly because he doesn’t know what else to do. He can’t call for a guard. He can’t signal to them or anyone else that he’s in danger. He can’t fight Akoni. He can’t flee.

But Cliopher is the Secretary in Chief of the Offices of the Lord of State. He is a genuinely busy man.

No one who knows him would find it odd for Cliopher to, say, work in his office overnight… asking his pages not to let anyone through…

This vague prelude of a plan comforts him enough to step outside his bedroom. Akoni gives him a welcome smile from the dining-table; Cliopher’s doubts return at once.

“I mentioned it already, but there’s great news today,” says Akoni while Cliopher reluctantly sits to eat. “My interview must have gone well, I’ve just been hired!”

“Yes, I heard,” says Cliopher slowly. His arms throb. It’s still hard to breathe; he’s concerned his ribs might be fractured. But he forces a weak smile. “I heard a wild-mage was involved in the recent explosion…? It struck me as odd, since we were together at the time.”

“That was part of my application project,” Akoni admits. “I thought I’d failed, or that I’d even be arrested, once I heard… but apparently they thought the magic would fail entirely. There was a lot of excitement, just because I managed to mix the types at all.”

Cliopher says, “I see,” and focuses on eating. His heart thuds in his ears.

“It’s like the magic that was all over you – but I’m excellent at wild magic,” says Akoni. Cliopher isn’t sure what he’s talking about, now. “I could only get inside with your permission; and what if I need to put more spells on you? It’ll be a lot easier now that you’ve let me in. Because there’s consent, you see, so that other magic won’t fight me.”

Cliopher doesn’t see how any of this is consensual. He wishes he knew more about magic. He chews slowly.

Right now it’s probably in his best interest to play along with Akoni – to pacify him as much as possible. Cliopher is good at talking, good at convincing people that they can talk to him. It’s half his job; a good portion of the nobility are equally delusional. It’s not so different.

“I’m glad you visited,” Cliopher lies. Akoni perks up. Cliopher picks his words carefully. “And that we’ll be seeing each other more often; I don’t want to fight with you. But if we’re going to be working in such close quarters, I think we need to establish boundaries, Akoni. You must understand I am constantly busy; I’m afraid I won’t have time to see you every day. And for security reasons, my rooms really must remain private.”

Akoni hums in thought. “I’m going to be busy with my work, as well. But there’s no point hiding things between us, Kip. Don’t worry; I won’t talk about anything I see here. Do you promise to keep my secrets?” Akoni asks the ritual words.

Cliopher says, “No.”

Akoni’s smile falls. His hand whips out, lightning-quick, and cracks over Cliopher’s jaw. Cliopher drops his glass; glass sprays out in every direction. He flexes his fingers through the pain of a dozen small cuts.

Otherwise, Cliopher doesn’t move. He wonders if he could trick Akoni into doing that in public. Or hard enough to leave a visible, suspicious wound for the guards to notice.

“You really do frustrate me,” Akoni complains, shaking his hand. “Don’t ruin my mood, okay? I need to make a good first impression on the Ouranatha.”

Cliopher is fairly certain the Ouranatha are incapable of being impressed, given how they seek to control the Sun-on-Earth himself. He just says, “Right,” deciding there’s no value in angering Akoni just yet.

He finally gathers his things and readies to leave for the day. By the door Cliopher stands still as Akoni kisses him. Unresponsive; not that his partner seems to care. “Let’s not hold grudges,” the mage says, patting Cliopher’s stinging cheek.

Absently, Cliopher wonders whether Ser Rhodin would notice if he starts sleeping in the Gray Mountains each night. Probably.

It turns out that Ludvic’s initial summation of the explosion was not accurate.

“I am convinced the Ouranatha are moving against me,” says his lord.

There’s a wall of silence up for the benefit of the guards. It’s not that the emperor doesn’t trust them, Cliopher is sure. But this is not an accusation to make lightly.

“With what intent?” asks Cliopher.

“You question the idea?”

“I do not question that they would do it, my lord; I only wonder why they should act now. I doubt they have made any gains with the Duchess, whatever they intended with her.”

His Radiancy nods. He’s pacing again, like a caged lion, golden eyes clouded as he thinks aloud. “I am uncertain of that myself. I am, of course, aging; even Solaara’s relative scale of time will not keep me alive forever, and we move inextricably toward a new form of government. At this juncture, there is no Empire; no heir could take my place; but that truth may not stop certain traditionalists.”

Privately Cliopher finds it optimistic to think of this as a certain ‘truth.’ If his Radiancy announced tomorrow his desire to wed someone, make an heir, and hand over the reins of government upon their majority, Zunidh would not only comply but rejoice. All their government, all their rituals and structures and traditions, encircle the emperor. And many nobles are half-terrified of what will happen when his Radiancy dies.

But his lord continues talking, perhaps more to himself than Cliopher. “Yet schooled magic follows pre-set forms, traditions. Many of which will be rendered obsolete with no new target for the Taboos. Thus the relevancy of the Ouranatha is threatened, and their power. And yet there is an odd change among their order, Sayo Mdang. They’ve inducted a new initiate with wild magic…”

His lord trails off, significantly, and pauses to look at Cliopher.

For the first time Cliopher wonders if Rhodin’s mentioned that Cliopher’s seeing someone. Surely not? Unless he thought there were a security threat… Cliopher can only hope. He keeps his gaze trained away from the guards.

His lord waits a moment longer, than resumes pacing. “Of course,” he continues, “the man is only an initiate. But it is promising… a sign that perhaps the Empire’s old magics are continuing to weaken. That the Ouranatha seek, actually, to adapt. The people of Zunidh must be able to endure without these structures.”

Without the emperor, he means. Everyone calls Cliopher’s lord the Last Emperor, but the Ouranatha would bind another under the old magics if his lord ever sired an heir. Everyone knows this, his lord most of all, for all that he hopes for alternatives.

“But then there is the explosion,” his Radiancy contemplates.

“My lord, it has been reported the incident in the wizard’s tower was a mere accident. Was the explosion an attack…? A backfired curse?” Akoni claimed it was a project for his interview. But what kind of project?

“No; no, nothing of the sort. I agree it was merely an experiment. It is the nature of the experiment that perturbs me. The Ouranatha are clearly seeking to manipulate wild magic and schooled magic simultaneously. I hope they just want to bring in new techniques… But that seems unlike them. They’ve always scorned wild magic.” A pause; his lord makes an aborted hand-gesture, as though intending to raise another Wall, before recalling one is already up. Casually he adds, “I am a wild mage.”

That genuinely shocks Cliopher. He freezes a moment, running through the implications. “The magic of the emperor, my lord - “

“It overpowered my own magic,” says his Radiancy, in a tone more bitter than Cliopher’s ever heard from him. “But it exists, still. Increasingly I have found small ways to use it, to influence the boundaries of Zunidh. You see, then, another reason why the Ouranatha might run such experiments.”

“To control your magic.”

“Or, at least, to ferret out my weaknesses. Learn how to fight against me.”

Cliopher sits with this awhile, stomach sinking. Finally he says, “That’s treason.”

His Radiancy barks a sharp, short laugh – another startling sound. “My dear secretary,” he says, “we are surrounded by treason, always. Didn’t you know?”

After this stressful morning his Radiancy turns to discussion of some petty feuding between the Jilkano royalty. Around noon there is a break, and usually Cliopher would leave for lunch.

But he thinks of Akoni, who might also be taking his meal; who might see him across the cafeteria, or check his rooms. Cliopher lingers, fussing uselessly over his writing-kit, until with an odd expression his lord pauses and invites him to lunch.

This is not a common honor, but neither is it terribly rare. Cliopher is pleased to accept; though regardless one does not refuse a private meal with his Radiancy, no matter the circumstances.

Conju offers Cliopher a smile as he brings out the food. He’s always telling Cliopher that his Radiancy eats more, and lingers over it, with company; and Conju never thinks his Radiancy eats enough.

Cliopher’s talks with his lord are never really ‘personal,’ but they can be pleasant; instead of work they discuss the menagerie, a new installation in the garden. His Radiancy recalls some piece of poetry that was brought to his attention and recites it. He has a good voice for poetry. The Sun-on-Earth loves all the arts, though he often downplays this fact. Cliopher doesn’t have to wonder why; any sign of favor or preference from the Lord of Rising Stars inevitably results in a mountain of tithes and offerings. He would soon be drowning in zealously-adoring poetry, most of it occupied with himself.

Cliopher’s pleasantly relaxed when the meal ends. They return to work, and he likes to think his Radiancy seems more composed as well. At any rate his pacing slows.

But then they approach the end of the working-day. There’s been no emergencies or oddities, nothing to justify staying and presuming further on his Radiancy’s schedule. Cliopher packs up his kit slowly after he’s dismissed. Then he stops, considering, and neatly puts aside his writing-kit, leaving it tucked on his usual desk. He goes to the door.

“Sayo Mdang,” his lord calls. “Have you forgotten something?”

There’s a faint note of surprise in his voice, which his Radiancy rarely allows. Cliopher’s magical writing-kit was a gift from his lord. It never leaves his side. “I expect to have some guests tonight, my lord; it is perhaps overly-cautious, but I feel it would be more secure here.”

A pause. “Very well,” his lord says, and departs to the inner chambers without argument.

Cliopher isn’t lying. There are guards outside each set of chambers; no one will touch his papers here. But he still leaves reluctantly, feeling the curious gazes of Ingo and Koloi on his back as he goes.

His reports and plans will be secure; Cliopher is less confident on his own behalf.

Cliopher manages to waste another hour handling issues in the Offices before he’s shooed away. He eats in the cafeteria, detouring to take a long walk through the gardens as night falls. And then there is nothing to do but sleep, of course. He heads back through a roundabout path to the Alinorel wing, buying himself time.

Cliopher isn’t wholly surprised to find Akoni waiting at his table.

He does not expect to see the high priest, Bavezh, sipping tea from one of Cliopher’s favorite mugs.

Apparently Cliopher needs to start burning them like his lord. He comes to a halt in front of the pair, clasping his arms together. Cliopher refuses to show surprise. “I did not expect you, Lord Wizard. Nor do I recall extending an invitation.”

“You’re late,” complains Akoni. Bavezh rises.

The high priest does… something. He waves his arms, squinting at Cliopher. Cliopher, being less magical than the average rock, feels nothing. Bavezh nods to himself. “Very good,” he tells Akoni. “Very interesting. It is different than other bindings I’ve used. Less strict, which to me seems risky. But it looks flexible. Intent-based?”

“Sure – based on his own mind.” Akoni sounds a little amused. “He does it to himself, really.”

“Which, yes, I see it. That would override many potential issues.”

Cliopher listens to this amiable discussion with slowly-growing shock.

He’s never ‘liked’ either of the high-priests. Or... any of the Ouranatha, really. But he’s worked with them for centuries. They head one of the four pillars of government under his Radiancy; they are ultimately united in goals. Or so Cliopher thought.

Because it certainly sounds like the Ouranatha know all about Cliopher’s enchantment. Which means they’re willingly manipulating the head of the entire Imperial Bureauracy.

Do they know...? Have they already learned, somehow, of his Radiancy’s vague desire to restructure the Ouranatha? Would they go this far?

“Explain yourself, Sir,” Cliopher snaps.

“We will need to study him, of course,” says Bavezh, still ignoring Cliopher himself.

“That part will be harder,” Akoni admits. “I can only stop him from talking right now; I’ll need to layer more spells.”

That doesn’t sound good. “I am the Hands of the Emperor,” says Cliopher. “You are committing treason.”

“Two weeks, then,” says Bavezh. “We’ll need to persuade him… But there are spells for that, too. We will discuss the particulars tomorrow.” Then he sweeps out.

Akoni rises. He smiles at Cliopher like it’s any other day, kissing his cheek. “Don’t look so worried. You’re just going to be part of an experiment I’m doing with the priests. I feel incredibly lucky; most initiates don’t get noticed so fast.” Akoni squeezes his hand, stroking a hand up his arm. Cliopher stands frozen as he tries to assess what to do; to his great relief, Akoni steps away. “I just came to say goodnight; we both have an early morning. I love you, Kip,” he adds.

Cliopher should at least feign complaisance. Should play at obedient love for this madman; he can’t bring himself to do it. He compromises with silence, waiting until Akoni leaves. He prepares himself for rest in a daze.

In the darkness of his own room Cliopher sits awhile, thinking of that blithe, incriminating conversation. Bespelled or not, he’d expect Bavezh to show a little discretion. Enough for plausible deniability.

The only reason he wouldn’t…

Ah, thinks Cliopher, by now resigned to his horrible circumstances. He lays down and stares at the ceiling. He’s not sure about Akoni, who feels at least something adjacent to an obsessive affection with Cliopher. But the priests…

They’re probably planning to kill me.

Chapter Text

“You want me to do the audit?” asks Kiri, taken aback.

“Is it a problem?”

“No… no, that’s fine, Sir. It’s just that you always handle things with the Ouranatha yourself.”

She’s right, of course. Cliopher wouldn’t usually make his staff interact with the priest-wizards more than necessary. Not to mention the Ouranatha, unlike the Council of Princes, still retain the power to order executions.

But Akoni is somewhere among their number. They have no reason to hurt Kiri; Cliopher doesn’t know what the high-priests might do to him, with his tongue bound from revealing it.

“I have every confidence in you,” says Cliopher. “I’ve been reading up on magic; hopefully it will help when we go through the summaries.”

“Is anything going on? You’ve been keeping something close to chest, Sir, I know you.”

Cliopher glances around the bustling office. The Private Offices remains one of his favorite places in the Palace (right after the rich splendor of his Radiancy’s receiving-room). But it’s also open to visitors, to other courtiers.

Akoni could walk through at any time. A loving man visiting his partner; no one would stop him. The guards know him by now, surely, through word of mouth.

Cliopher shakes his head and gives his most diplomatic smile. “I am afraid our lord expects me, Kiri; let me know if the Lord Wizards gives you any trouble.”

“Do you know Duchess Melissa?”

Cliopher should have known better than to return to his quarters. But he was released early today, and hoped to snatch a few hours of sleep before dinner – before Akoni’s work finished – and figured he could make up the time working through the night in the Private Offices.

He eyes the door, wondering whether the enchantments would let him bolt and how bad the consequences would be later. “Not really,” he says, which has the benefit of being true. “She is on the Council of Princes, of course, but we’ve never spoken privately.”

“She’s vexing my superiors,” Akoni complains, pacing. It’s not rhythmic like the way his Radiancy paces; he twists and meanders across the small room, crossing often in front of the door. Cliopher listens to him from a seat at the table, trying to look politely interested and not like he’s planning escape-routes. “They just need some help with their spells.”

“I wasn’t aware the Grand Duchess had any particular skill with magic.”

“She doesn’t, of course. And in her family, what an embarrassment! But there’s magic about her, you know.” (Cliopher does not know.) “If she would just sit still… and she has guards all the time. Everyone is so damn paranoid in this place.”

I wonder why, thinks Cliopher, wry. His arm throbs.

Akoni whirls back, contemplates Cliopher, and sighs. “Sorry, sorry. I just want to impress them, you know? Early days on the job are important.”

“Oh, very much,” Cliopher murmurs. Akoni seems more resigned than annoyed now, so he dares to add, “I think I would like to rest a bit before dinner, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Good idea,” says Akoni. Relieved, Cliopher goes to his bedroom.

Akoni follows.

“A bit empty,” he observes, just as Cliopher realizes the mistake. “Don’t pay you well as a secretary, do they?” Akoni sheds his shirt.

Cliopher decides the best option is to ignore him – ignore what Akoni’s clearly intending – and hope to dissuade him by that alone. It’s a tactic that works sometimes; if you ignore hints people often refuse to say what they really want. He pretends this is all perfectly normal and moves to settle into bed.

But Akoni, unfortunately, is neither polite nor tactful. “Wait, you’re not actually trying to take nap? It’s not even dark.” He tugs Cliopher back before he can sit down, brushing a chaste kiss over his lips and pulling back with a smile. “Come on.”

“I really did mean to sleep,” says Cliopher firmly. “It’s been a long week.”

Mostly because of his unwanted boyfriend.

“You can sleep afterward – I’ll help tire you out,” Akoni jokes. He keeps his hold on Cliopher’s arm and drags him in for another kiss, longer. When Cliopher ducks away, Akoni wraps an arm around his back. “You’re a bit shy, you know that?”

Cliopher actually gapes; he’s never been called shy in his life.

Akoni interrupts his bewilderment with another kiss down his neck, tugging at his robes. “These damn uniforms – take it off,” he encourages, rolling his hips against Cliopher’s uninterested body.

“I just need to sleep,” Cliopher tries again. Nausea crawls up his throat.

Akoni’s not smiling anymore. “Don’t be stubborn.” He squeezes Cliopher’s arm.

The situation, itself, would not be too alarming; but his own sheer helplessness infuriates Cliopher. He knows he can’t fight, can’t get help; angering Akoni is dangerous when he isn’t able to defend himself.

But he doesn’t want to just endure this, either.

Cliopher thinks desperately about stalling-tactics, even as he lets Akoni pull away his overrobe. He winces when Akoni kisses him again, wet and obtrusive over his mouth. His hands clutch at Akoni while he grapples with confusion; he realizes he’s shaking.

Cliopher doesn’t yearn for sex like other people; he usually enjoys it, though. Right now the thought is just – unclean and messy and altogether unpleasant.

Akoni grinds his hips while they kiss; his erection is evident. Cliopher recalls how rough Akoni was in his mouth, and how he first wanted something else – how much would that hurt? His ribs still ache from previous abuse.

His mind whirrs, but all his negotiation skills can’t summon a safe distraction. Does he dare to just say, no, get away from me?

Cliopher’s fairly certain it won’t end well, but he opens his mouth.

Someone knocks at the door.

Akoni pulls back with a low groan; Cliopher remains frozen in his arms, like a startled rabbit. “Tell them to go away,” Akoni insists.

Cliopher has absolutely no intention of that. With relief he pulls his uniform back on and hurries to the door.

It’s a bored page, who hands over a letter with a quick, “Sir,” and practically vibrates awaiting reply.

A quick glance confirms it’s nothing important – just a notice from Kira that she has something to discuss in the morning. It might be best to stop by the offices early before attending his Radiancy; no response necessary.

He dismisses the page and glances back at Akoni, who waits impatiently. “Excuse me, I have to handle this,” Cliopher says, and departs with relief.

Rhodin shows up at Cliopher’s door before dawn the next day.

This is a bit problematic, since Cliopher isn’t in his rooms, and hasn’t been since his last encounter with Akoni. He manages to work at the offices until the 2^nd bell after midnight, when the supervisor of the scant night-crew starts interrupting every few minutes to pointedly suggest that they have everything handled, Sir, thank you very much.

So after that he wanders around, accepts a glass of hot chocolate from the Palace kitchens, and then meanders through the quiet garden. He nearly stumbles straight into a path of a few patrolling guards, who brandish spears before recognizing him and exchanging some amiable small-talk.

- That part might be the reason for Rhodin’s visit.

Rhodin actually manages to track him one of the empty conference rooms near the offices. Kiri hasn’t arrived, yet, but he’ll stay near until he gets her report.

“Something wrong with your own office?” Rhodin asks, peeking into the room. He closes the door behind him, which shouldn’t feel as ominous as it does.

“It has quite a lot of people who keep telling me to stop working,” says Cliopher, dry.

“Pretty sure most offices don’t have that,” Rhodin agrees. “Might be a management problem.”

“Perhaps. Did you need something?”

“Well, I was going to invite you to breakfast. Heard you weren’t sleeping well.”

Cliopher eyes him. “Does it ever occur to you not to pry about these things?”

“Nope,” Rhodin breezes. “That’s my job.”

“Monitoring my sleep?”

“Monitoring the health of the Emperor’s Hands.” Rhodin flashes a quick grin, which doesn’t look sincere. “Really, Cliopher, you seem a bit off lately.”

Oh, does he? Cliopher presses his lips together. He’s found himself thinking some rather ungracious things about the imperial spy service lately; he expected them to catch on far quicker. But that’s ungenerous. “It’s a bit late for breakfast. Kiri should be arriving about now.”

“Cliopher - “

Cliopher does try to explain; his throat catches. He clenches his jaw. “Excuse me.”

Cliopher dines with his Radiancy again at the end of the week, lunch and dinner; he was invited yesterday, and the day before, too. Conju has stopped looking so approving in favor of mild bemusement. It’s odd for anyone to be invited to the Presence so frequently, even Cliopher.

Cliopher’s come to realize his lord tends to invite Cliopher if he simply lingers without purpose an extra few minutes after work completes. Most people – Cliopher included – try to be as briskly efficient as possible around his Radiancy, so this is something he’ll need to remember.

The problem is that Cliopher’s tired. It’s noticeable; most people do not struggle to keep their eyes open in front of the Sun-on-Earth.

“It occurs to us that perhaps our secretary is not yet fully recovered from his illness,” says his Radiancy over dessert, so mildly that it takes Cliopher’s sleep-deprived mind a moment to interpret the royal plural. “If you require more rest, Sayo Mdang, you only need request it.”

Cliopher straightens, hoping he looks more alert than he feels. He automatically tries to bow, except he’s still sitting, and winces when his elbow smacks the table. “No, my lord; I apologize if I have been inattentive.”

“Your service is never lacking, Cliopher.” But his Radiancy keeps inspecting Cliopher, who keeps his gaze lowered from those golden eyes.

Cliopher knows he doesn’t look well. Of course he doesn’t; he spent the previous night in the Library, pouring through indecipherable magical tomes. Most of them may as well have been gibberish for all Cliopher understood. He knows he doesn’t have time to master magical theory; and whatever Akoni and the Ouranatha are doing, it’s heavily advanced magic.

Despite what people say Cliopher does try to keep a semblance of a work-life balance. But that’s hard when he’s too wary of Akoni to return to his own bed. He ended up catching only snatches of sleep at the reading desk, and was wakened at dawn by a concerned assistant-librarian; she was the same one who found him in such a condition the night before.

There’s only so long he can stay away before Akoni forces the matter. Again he debates the merits of sneaking out of Solaara to nap in the mountains. Maybe a hotel in town, but Rhodin has all those watched...

Cliopher tries to turn the topic toward work; his Radiancy’s gaze becomes vacant. He makes some polite, disinterested responses until Cliopher gives up the attempt. He leaves with the bell.

Cliopher needs sleep, despite the risk. It’s not as though Akoni can stake out his room all the time.

“That lord of yours must be a tyrant,” says Akoni. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Cliopher curbs his initial rush of anger. Akoni, who beat him, insulting his Radiancy? “I am sure you do not intend to imply blasphemy against the Glorious One. And I will remind you, I am the Hands of the Emperor,” he says, clipped. If he’s colluding with the priests Akoni must have realized that by now. “My work often requires long hours.”

“So I’ve heard.” Akoni leaps up from his chair, approaching Cliopher with a languid stride he would have admired once. Akoni is an objectively beautiful man, with dark rippling muscles, the wiry kind of strength found in Islanders who hunt and fish and raise sails. But Cliopher nearly shudders in revulsion as he’s pulled in for a kiss.

It goes on long; too long. Cliopher can’t bring himself to respond, and every second churns his stomach more. Finally Akoni pulls back. As usual he isn’t bothered by his partner’s reluctance toward sex. Not as long as I endure it, Cliopher thinks.

Rhodin would notice the Gray Mountains, but there are probably unused areas in the Palace -

“I wanted to talk to you about taking some time off,” Akoni starts, as Cliopher – for lack of anything productive to do – starts setting aside his things. His writing-kit, of course, remains in his Radiancy’s study.

Cliopher pauses at the notion. He tries to sound unbothered by the prospect. “I take time every year to visit the Vangevaye-ve; but rarely more than that. Perhaps you can join me next time.”

He hopes this will serve to appease Akoni. It does not.

“Just a few days,” he says. “I thought we could go hiking.”

“Hiking,” Cliopher echoes, touching his chest.

“Sure. Up in the mountains. I’ve been wanting to explore – it would be nice to do something together.”

Cliopher stands, trying to quell his disbelief. It doesn’t really work. “I suppose that is a notion I would have once found romantic,” he says at last; even now such a reality sounds ludicrous, impossible. “But you must understand that it is unwise to hike with fractured ribs; and I am fairly certain, Akoni, that you fractured my ribs.”

And possibly did something serious to his arm; it still hasn’t healed.

Some of Akoni’s good humor fades. “Really, Kip? I don’t know why you seem so intent on fighting with me lately.”

“And I do not see why you insist on asking me questions, and pretending I have a choice, when you are content to ignore my responses.”

Cliopher knows he shouldn’t provoke Akoni. He knows. But he’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

Akoni stares at him, no longer smiling at all. “What exactly do you want from me, Kip?”

That seems obvious. “I would like for you to remove whatever magic you placed on me.”

“You consented.”

“Consent given in ignorance cannot be considered binding.” Cliopher instituted a few laws stating as much. “And I still don’t understand what you’ve done.”

Akoni snorts. “Clearly. And yet here you are, refusing to shut up about it.” Akoni looks Cliopher up and down.

Cliopher gets the sense he’s using magic, or seeing it; so it’s interesting when Akoni’s face twitches in something like panic. It smooths over quickly.

“I will tell you then,” says Akoni slowly. “It’s not that I’m unfair. But you came to me, that first day – flirting so outrageously – and yet you had the magic of another mage, all wrapped up in you. You glowed. It’s why I spoke to you that day at the exhibit. I did not care about the art, or that you were from the Vangevaye-ve, or were a Mdang. I just wanted to know why you were so special someone wanted to own you that badly.”

Cliopher has no idea what he’s talking about. It wouldn’t be shocking to learn there are some minor spells on himself; Rhodin has magic, for one, along with several other guards. And there are spells on the apartments and belongings of many senior-officials, for protection. His writing-kit must burst with the magic of the Lord Magus.

“So I got to know you,” Akoni says. “I’m very strong, you know. And I decided you should be mine instead. Your other wild-mage hasn’t even noticed; so they never deserved you.”

Wild-mage? Surely the only other wild-mage in Solaara is his Radiancy… does Akoni realize that?

Of course he doesn’t. He can’t; no one on this world would dream that the Last Emperor, the center of all schooled magic, could be a wild mage.

So Akoni just sensed my writing-kit, Cliopher hazards. Was this all, what, some sort of ego-trip? An attempt to show he had stronger magic than the greatest magus in the world?

“And the Ouranatha are helping me,” Akoni continues.

Cliopher interrupts, “Why?”

“What?”

“Why would the Ouranatha help you? For what purpose?” Not that Cliopher would put attempted mental control beyond the morals of the Ouranatha; such a thing was probably the norm in the days of Eritanyr. But, “Such an endeavor puts them at significant risk.”

“It doesn’t. It’s not like you can say anything. And you’ll stop trying, eventually. So now you know; do you promise to keep my secrets?”

Cliopher looks him in the face. With full knowledge of what will come, he says, “No.”

As expected, Akoni hits him. Cliopher barely sways. He rubs his jaw, considering. “Does that make you feel better?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Does it make you feel powerful, fighting someone who can’t resist you? Do you feel justified?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s interesting that you need to justify it,” Cliopher muses, unable to help himself. “Obviously, you just enjoy the violence, but there’s enough of a guilty-mind somewhere in you that you’re required to rationalize it and blame me.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you if you were less annoying. I came over to invite you on a trip, Kip! Why are you always like this?”

“I get that question a lot,” Cliopher says. Akoni hits him again.

Cliopher grabs his arm.

They both pause, stupefied. Cliopher looks down at his own hand, his knuckles clenched white.

You consented, Akoni said. And now Cliopher knows more, and refused… Did that do something? If only Cliopher could feel the magic!

Can he escape?

Cliopher lunges for the door.

Then he cries out, body jerking, as some strange force contracts all his muscles. He drops to the ground inches from the simple wooden door.

He does it to himself, really, Akoni said to Bavezh.

A burst of pain against his temple flattens Cliopher the rest of the way. After a moment of blank dizziness he look up and realizes Akoni kicked him. Cliopher staggers to his feet; he can taste blood hot over his mouth where he bit his lip.

“Ugh, that’s going to bruise,” says Akoni, like it’s Cliopher’s fault.

If Cliopher can’t escape... he raises an arm and swings.

Akoni jolts back, like he didn’t expect that. Not that it matters; the hit doesn’t connect.

Relief, then an almost exasperated anger, rival for dominance on Akoni’s features. He stomps forward and shoves hard at Cliopher, who’s flung back. “Why do you keep making this so difficult? I’m not an angry person, Cliopher – you just have a way of bringing out the worst in me. I just wanted one good day, I was trying to be nice - “

Thus follows the oddest, yet most desperate fight in which Cliopher’s partaken. He can’t hit Akoni, but the magic seems to have weakened enough to let him block the blows or stall the hits. So with Akoni focused on trying to beat Cliopher, Cliopher clings to him, struggling to restrain his arms. This only makes Akoni more and more frustrated.

The whole time he’s thinking furiously, considering and dismissing objects in the room, the halls outside, but -

But he can’t do anything to get help. The magic won’t let him.

In the end, he knows the fight is futile. He throws himself again toward the door, but the same magic halts him. And then Akoni grabs him, dragging Cliopher back by his injured arm, and he yelps. He feels one of his damaged ribs shift; a lance of pain bolts down his chest, his spine. The next time Akoni throws him, he lands hard.

After that he can’t even follow what happens – just a flurry of blows, hands, feet. Akoni throws something at one point that cuts him deeply. There’s blood in his mouth. Cliopher is too dizzy to see anything.

“That’s enough – that’s enough,” Akoni says at last, almost like he’s trying to convince himself.

A sigh.

Cliopher can’t see anything – just dark splotches, glaring lights overhead. He blinks slowly and tries to focus. He’s twisted uncomfortably over the hard stone floor. His hands are black and red – ink, Cliopher registers. His hands are always stained with ink. And now blood, trickling down between his fingers in thin ribbons.

No new pain comes – though Cliopher is in so much pain already it’s hard to tell. Akoni repeats, “That’s enough. I’ll be back. We can discuss this later, okay? Gods! Why are you like this?”

Cliopher can’t even muster more than vague confusion as Akoni leaves. Discuss this? As though there is more than one way this could end.

He lies on the floor surrounded by broken things – a fallen mug. The table, which he now realizes is splintered. They toppled the chair at some point, and broken books lie scattered over the floor, presumably knocked off their shelves somewhere in the flailing. Those would annoy Cliopher at any other time.

Years ago Cliopher was marooned on a small island, alone in the darkness after the Fall. Yet he danced and felt his Fire and found his way home staring up at the silent stars.

Cliopher is in the Palace, in his own rooms, with warm mage-lights glinting down from the ceiling. He has never felt farther from that Fire, nor more lost. This is not who I’m meant to be, he thinks absurdly.

A victim; he is not meant to be a victim.

But he is. He’s only about a dozen paces from the door. He could stagger out into the halls right now… but he knows the enchantment will stop him. Couriers will be passing by. Some of them are friends; even his enemies would halt to call a guard. Cliopher pictures such a scenario in his mind, and yet can only remain on the floor. Blood pools beneath him in a steadily-growing radius.

After a moment he manages to prop himself up on one elbow; the opposite shoulder, he suspects, must be fractured or at least sprained. Cliopher starts to pull himself to the restroom. He’ll try to staunch the bleeding, then figure out what to do.

But this small journey takes longer than it should. He pauses at the threshold between rooms, gasping. He can’t see anything; his fingers feel numb. He lays his head on the cool stone tile.

Cliopher wonders how long it will take for his Radiancy to realize no one’s coming tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Cliopher wakens in fits and starts.

At one point he thinks he sees his Buru Tovo, which isn’t as ridiculous as it should be. Buru Tovo, Cliopher thinks in this haze of dreams, is exactly the sort of person who would mysteriously show up in the Palace of Stars – grass-skirt and all – with no explanation for how he got here.

Buru Tovo would be disappointed in him, Cliopher can’t help but think. So he’s a bit relieved when his uncle goes away.

He sees his sister, or at least hears her sweet music. Conju, dabbing at his face. Ludvic, oddly reciting poetry. A kookaburra sings above his headboard, but cackles and flies off when he reaches out.

And just once another voice, male, beautiful, singing a song so lovely Cliopher would cry if he could focus on the words. It’s no song he’s ever heard – Cliopher’s sure of that – but for some reason he thinks of Fitzroy Angursell,

And then finally Cliopher blinks open his eyes. His head hurts; everything hurts. The room is dark and quiet, but two shadows stand near the door. He hears them speaking in low tones.

“Nothing at all?”

“No, my men didn’t see any sign; and they were followed awhile. I’d never have expected it of Cliopher,” Rhodin’s saying. Something about that hurts a little, and eventually Cliopher recognizes the feeling as embarrassment. Rhodin continues, “He’s always so – confident.”

They’re talking about him, Cliopher realizes. Him and Akoni.

It’s a relief, of course. This is what Cliopher wanted. For people to realize, to help, to get him away and Akoni arrested.

But Cliopher did absolutely nothing to contribute to the arrest. He had to be saved. It sits bitter in his throat.

What a pathetic story.

“He’s one of the Ouranatha.”

“He only just started,” Rhodin says. “Nothing to suggest they’re involved… if they did want Cliopher dead, they’d certainly try to be cleaner about it. This is clumsy.”

“True. And no one else…?”

“He’s been leaving his work either in his Radiancy’s study, or the Offices. Doesn’t look like blackmail or intimidation, just…” Rhodin trails off, uncharacteristically awkward.

Just abuse, is what he means. Cliopher takes a slow breath, then gasps as his ribs flare. The shadows rustle.

“Cliopher?”

Ludvic sits down on one side of the bed, sober. “Glad you’re awake.” His voice is unusually soft. On his other side, Rhodin drops into a chair and pats Cliopher’s arm. “We need to ask you some questions.”

“We’ve already got guards scoping out your asshole boyfriend,” says Rhodin, helpful. “No need to hide anything. Did you want some water first?”

Cliopher tries to reply. His throat hurts; he swallows. Nothing comes out.

Akoni’s magic is still active – still doing something, even though his ‘secrets’ have come out.

As the silence stretches Rhodin and Ludvic exchange glances. Rhodin gets him a glass.

Ludvic doesn’t start with the most obvious questions. Instead he asks, “Where did that bruise on your arm come from?” He’s pointing to Cliopher’s writing-side.

Cliopher feels covered in bruises, so he’s baffled. Then he realizes Domina Audry must have mentioned the different ages of his injuries; that one was the oldest. They’re trying to ease him into the conversation.

But Cliopher can’t answer, much as he tries. He says nothing.

“You had a blood clot,” Ludvic adds as the silence stretches. “Deep bruising can be dangerous. If it constricts the arteries.” A beat. “Domina Audry says it could have been fatal, in time. Might have caused a heart attack or stroke.”

...Oh.

That does explain the odd pain.

Rhodin leans forward. “You were in really bad shape. We understand you don’t want to talk about it – but it’s really better to get this out of the way. You can make your statement, it’ll be over, done.”

Cliopher clenches his jaw. Over and done; that sounds nice. If only it were so easy.

After a moment, Rhodin adds, “Maybe we should tell you what we found, first.”

His Radiancy sent guards to check his quarters when he never arrived for his morning work. Half the Palace, subsequently, saw Cliopher rushed through the halls half-dead. Ludvic immediately ordered the arrest of the newest Ouranatha initiate; enough guards saw Akoni walking to and from his rooms to surmise what happened. Palace gossip at its finest. “Though we still don’t understand why he was able to hurt you, or why no one realized when it happened,” Rhodin adds. “You’re covered in magical protections, and so are your rooms. His Radiancy should have known the second you got anything worse than a bump on the knee.”

That’s certainly news to Cliopher. “Magical protections?”

Rhodin gives him a Look. “You think his Radiancy would just leave you vulnerable to magical tampering?”

Considering Cliopher is currently much tampered-with, yes. He tucks away that idea to consider later. No random mage should be able to overturn spells cast by the Lord Magus of Zunidh. Perhaps the Ouranatha could with time and care, at least the highest among them… but he’s fairly sure Akoni was sincere in not knowing them before. He can’t see that they would have had any occasion to bespell Cliopher without his knowledge.

“It sounds like you don’t need anything from me,” says Cliopher.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Rhodin sighs.

Ludvic starts to speak; before he can, the door slams open.

“He is awake?” his Radiancy demands. It’s not quite a question; Cliopher wonders how he knew.

“Yes, my lord,” Ludvic salutes. But his Radiancy is already stalking toward the bed. Alarmed guards belatedly swarm behind him; they crowd the small sickroom.

It wouldn’t surprise Cliopher for the Lord Magus to take an interest in the spells afflicting him; but since it’s clear no one’s noticed these, Cliopher’s taken aback by the intensity of his lord’s gaze. He immediately dips his head, struggling into the closest to an obeisance he can manage whilst bedridden.

His Radiancy doesn’t seem to notice.

“How long has he been hurting you?” his lord asks, golden eyes burning.

This makes it sound like Cliopher’s getting battered on a daily basis. “It isn’t like that,” he protests automatically.

Cliopher is famously good with words – but that doesn’t seem true now. He realizes how the reply sounds just as HR sucks in a breath. Worse, though, is the look on the emperor’s usually-impassive face – somewhere between furious and heartbroken.

“Explain that, Sayo Mdang,” his Radiancy says. His voice is angrier than Cliopher’s ever heard. He takes another step closer; Cliopher doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been unable to give his Radiancy an answer.

“My lord, I - “ he falters again, choking on the words. His hands clench over the bedspread.

“Cliopher,” his Radiancy snaps.

Abruptly Ludvic gets to his feet. “My lord, perhaps it would be best to give Sayo Mdang time to recover more before he’s questioned.” He shifts pointedly in front of Cliopher’s bed. Surely – surely he isn’t trying to protect Cliopher from his Radiancy?

Cliopher sees the same instant his lord registers this – all emotion draining away, face shuttering.

The Last Emperor takes a deep breath, withdrawing into something serene to replace his wild rage. “Of course,” he says. He speaks with a slow and deliberate tone, like they’re in a meeting. He takes another breath; it makes Cliopher think of a predator’s silent intensity. After a moment the strange pressure growing in the room drops.

Another breath. “You are correct. Sayo Mdang, we are glad to see you recovering. Domina Audry will see to your needs.” He turns, just slightly, toward Ludvic. “Commander Omo. Keep us updated on our secretary’s condition; we will visit again tomorrow.”

The royal plural, Cliopher notes miserably. Before he can voice a protest, the Sun-on-Earth whirls away. His guards follow him from the room – all except Ludvic. Rhodin flashes his commander a sign Cliopher doesn’t recognize before he exits too.

Ludvic sits beside Cliopher’s bed. “That wasn’t necessary,” Cliopher says. “I wasn’t…”

He trails off. Even to say, I wasn’t afraid of him, sounds ridiculous. Of course he’s not afraid; his lord is one of Cliopher’s dearest friends.

- apart from the fact Cliopher can’t publicly claim him as a friend, without the threat of being executed for treason-slash-blasphemy. But that’s beside the point. Cliopher rallies. “I always welcome the company of our lord.”

Commander Omo studies him. “Yes,” he says. “I suppose you do. You’ve taken meals with Him five times this week, in fact; were you afraid this Akoni would find you somewhere else? Did you hope staying in the Presence would keep you safe?”

Cliopher snaps his mouth shut, embarrassed. Mostly, embarrassed at the accuracy; this is exactly what he hoped.

“I’m not criticizing,” Ludvic continues, in his sober, ponderous way. “I am trying to understand. I know Sayo Ela is part of the Ouranatha now, but there’s no threat some initiate could make that would stop Him from protecting you. Why didn’t you just talk to us?”

Because of this damned magic! Cliopher tries to tell him, to warn him – he didn’t care nearly as much for himself, but the possibility that the Ouranatha might seek to control His Radiancy – that is unconscionable.

For a moment he thinks this new determination will be enough to push past the magic; Cliopher manages to open his mouth. But only a hiss of breath escapes him. Frustrated, he looks at the door.

Ludvic pats his arm; it takes everything in Cliopher not to shove him away. “You understand we can’t let you see him again?”

...Well! Obviously!!

Cliopher can’t articulate his first response; after a pause he’s able to ask, dully, “What happens now?”

Ludvic gives him a sharp, yet somehow sympathetic smile. “Rhodin’s handling it. We’ve convinced his Radiancy not to do anything hasty. We need to learn if this was just personal, or… well, there’s a lot of things someone could do with power over you.”

Cliopher bristles. “We never discussed anything confidential - “

“I know. I believe you; you’ll need to be questioned, but it’s just a precaution. No reason to believe this one’s a security threat, at least. I expect Rhodin won’t find anything.”

No, Cliopher concedes glumly; he probably won’t.

Domina Audry finally comes to see Cliopher once the guards have left him in (relative) privacy. She’s briskly professional, which he appreciates, explaining the extent of his injuries.

His Radiancy lent some magic to hasten Cliopher’s recovery, so he should be up and about much sooner than usual. But he still must be careful, she cautions, to heal properly. She explains that he had multiple fractured bones when he arrived – severe contusions, internal bleeding, a concussion, an infection in his arm...

Cliopher is accustomed to processing facts, numbers. Hearing the cold reality of his condition makes an impact. He agrees with all the Domina’s instructions. Then he asks when he can return to work.

She observes him with raised eyebrows a minute. “At minimum, I would recommend waiting at least ten days for very very light work,” she stresses. “Three weeks would be preferred. Maybe longer; concussions especially will vary.”

Ten days, then. She sighs, and adds, “But that will be at the discretion of the Glorious One.”

Cliopher’s heart sinks. “I understand,” he says. He thinks of his lord’s distant face as he left the sickroom flanked by his guards. Cliopher wonders if he’ll even have a post after this fiasco.

The Domina gives him sleeping-medicine before she leaves. Cliopher catches a glimpse of guards outside the doors when she exits. He lies back, though, and wonders if those guards would halt Bavezh or Iprenna. Or any others among the Ouranatha who might be involved with Akoni.

Akoni acted out of rash, violent anger. The Ouranatha certainly didn’t plan for this sort of attention. They also wouldn’t expect the Lord Magus to inspect Cliopher for magical tampering, injuries...

How will this interfere with their plans? And what will they do to ensure his silence?

Cliopher does not sleep well that night.

Chapter Text

“Here, bend forward a bit,” says Conju. Cliopher hisses between his teeth. “Sorry! Is that better?”

Cliopher tries to move his shoulder. The brace holds it steady. “Yes, thank you. I can really manage from here, Conju.”

“Nonsense; our lord has other staff. And he directed me to assist you. Really, Cliopher, no one would mind if you took a few more days. Saya Kalikiri is very capable.”

This is true; though she was mostly a wreck when she visited, horrendously uncomfortable and unable to hide it. They politely talked around the subject, just discussing the logistics of his absence and the work that will accrue. Presuming Cliopher isn’t going to be denounced as some kind of security-risk.

And despite Conju’s assurances, he’s still not sure what his lord thinks of all this. Cliopher won’t return to work with his Radiancy directly just yet; he can hardly write, after all, which rather defeats the purpose of a secretary. He’s already marked a young page to do his own dictations; he’ll be working directly in the Offices for at least a few days,

Cliopher’s friends have been by his bedside often – with Ludvic and Rhodin frequently attending the new guard-posts outside – but his Radiancy never visited again after that first attempt.

He just doesn’t want to stress you more, Conju said when he tentatively brought up the subject; but is that really it?

“There are plenty of pages,” Cliopher continues to argue as they leave through the halls. There are always eyes on Cliopher; but there are more, today, lingering over the faint bruises on his face, his brace, the lingering limp. “You have more important work to be doing.”

“If you keep this up I’ll just think you don’t like me,” Conju sniffs. “And our lord is hardly the one healing from multiple fractures, Cliopher; he shall manage with the other dozen attendants. They can use some practice without me, anyway. Poor Elesia still just about cries whenever he declines to eat her cooking, and you know he’s so bad about eating - “

A guard trails behind them as they head to the Offices. Cliopher thrums with nervous energy whenever he sees them, even though Tiapu is perfectly familiar. Has Akoni been questioned yet? he longs to ask. But it would probably be misinterpreted as lovesick concern for his abuser – not concern for himself, and hope that this curse can be removed.

“Oh, Sir – good timing,” says Kiri when she sees them. The noise-level of the room dips significantly as people pretend not to stare. “I needed to talk to you about something. Ah, in your office, I think.”

Cliopher expects she’s giving him an excuse to escape the stares awhile, but once the three of them are alone – guard waiting outside – she gives Conju a speculative appraisal. She must decide there’s no need to hide this matter from the Groom of the Chamber; taking a breath, she turns to Cliopher. “Sir, I’ve been competing that audit of the Ouranatha you requested. They’re all pretty frazzled at the moment, with the repairs… but something isn’t right. Take a look – these are the projected costs for the year, and this is the overhead budget for maintenance of ritual items…”

Cliopher carefully studies the reports as Kiri sets out paper after paper. Auditing the Ouranatha is a headache at the best of times because the Service doesn’t really have any mages; no more than mere dabblers, anyway. Certainly they lack anyone qualified to assess whether the Ouranatha need all their esoteric equipment. The fact the high-priests must purify so many objects for his Radiancy as a portion of their work complicates things even further.

But Cliopher – and his lord, of course – know that the Ouranatha’s magics were disrupted in the Fall; know, too, that they’ve been grasping to reclaim it, and utilizing the panic caused by that disruption to proclaim themselves invaluable. Without knowledge or skill to dispute this – and with most of the College of Wizards killed in the Fall – the Zuni population simply allowed them to do so.

This leaves his lord with a quandary; how does the Lord-Magus of Zunidh decrease the Ouranatha’s power without, also, affecting his own authority? Without affecting the stability of the government, the pillars of state? The magics that uphold Zunidh? While they may be less useful since the Fall, disaffected members could certainly do great damage to this world if they desired.

The only long-lasting cure that might work would be to simply execute them all and start a new service of magic-users from scratch. Although that is both undeserved, and would probably manifest a rather inconvenient curse.

But the longer Cliopher looks at the papers, he starts to see the shape of what Kiri noticed. Ah, he thinks, resigned. There are at least a few executions on the way.

“The Ouranatha are… embezzling,” he says.

Kiri fidgets as Conju leans forward. “Yes, but…”

“But not in the usual sense,” Cliopher says.

She nods, relieved. “Yes. I don’t know what they are doing, mind. We really need a proper mage… but they truly are buying supplies, a lot of supplies; it’s just that they’re trying to hide some of them under the wrong headings, or into projects that wouldn’t need them.”

Cliopher nods his agreement. She’s laid out items and budgets from decades ago versus the last year. Neither of them have magic, but Cliopher can see that certain previous budgets were largely the same year-to-year, with minor variations based on the changing prices of materials.

But recently the Ouranatha have been slipping in additional supplies under the same, repetitive processes – purification rituals, blessings for specific areas, wardings, and that sort of thing. Additional items and materials that were never needed before.

It’s a bit clumsy; Kiri probably wouldn’t have noticed if the Ouranatha had suddenly just boosted their discretionary ‘magical experimentation’ budget. But none of the current mages really excel at finances, and probably thought it better to spread the costs around.

Cliopher sighs. “I will bring this to the attention of his Radiancy,” he says; there is simply no one else at court likely to recognize what those materials can be used for. “In the meantime – well, first, did the Ouranatha seem concerned about your audit?”

“No, Sir.”

That, if anything, makes Cliopher more uneasy. But he says aloud, “Good. For the next… well, until I say otherwise, we should keep close note of their finances. Discretionary request, visitors…” he tries to say, new hires, and the magic nearly chokes him.

Kiri shuffles the files together. “I’ll get right on it – oh, no, I suppose I won’t, will I?” She needs to be with his Radiancy soon. “I’ll ask Aioru to handle that, he’s discreet – oh!”

She’s turned to the door just as it opens; Rhodin startles to a stop, ducking around her with a quick nod. “My apologies, Saya Kalakiri – would you mind - ?”

She nods, shooting Cliopher a worried look as she goes.

“Has something happened?” asks Cliopher. He’s thinking that they might need to call back Kiri; no point hiding things from her when she’s acting as secretary for his Radiancy.

“Just wanted to tell you we can remove the guards – we’re done investigating,” Rhodin says.

Cliopher winces. Next to him Conju finally steps forward. “And…?”

Rhodin shrugs. “No reason to think it was political,” he says shortly.

He’s trying to be brief for Cliopher’s sake. In other circumstances Cliopher would appreciate it; right now his only response is impatience. “Is that all?” he asks, pointed.

“Yes.” It comes out almost guilty; as though Cliopher were annoyed, and not trying to pry. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

If the investigation is over then presumably Cliopher’s stuck. The spell is loosening; he’s fairly sure it’s loosening. But will it ever fall away completely? He sighs. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Rhodin eyes him. “And you don’t have any questions?”

“I don’t see why he would,” Conju interrupts, stiff-backed. “You don’t need anything from him, do you?”

Rhodin makes a bit of a face; Cliopher still hasn’t given a statement, being literally unable to discuss what happened. But he begrudges: “No. Sayo Ela did confess enough for the charges to stick… creepy about how he phrased some of it, though…”

“Thank you,” Cliopher interrupts. He’s not interested in knowing what lurid details Akoni provided the guards, many of whom are friends of varying degrees. “In that case, I should get back to work.”

Conju fusses a bit after Rhodin leaves, and eventually convinces Cliopher it would do his injuries some good to take walk in the gardens. Cliopher grudgingly accedes, mostly to soothe his friend’s worry.

“There’s a Council of Princes in just a few days, I believe?” Conju flicks his gaze to Cliopher’s shoulder; it’s a rhetorical question. The Council comes every six weeks. “Will you be able to attend by then?”

“I believe so; Domina Audry tells me his Radiancy has sped the healing.” Cliopher can only take her word for it, since he hasn’t seen his Radiancy since that first day; but then, the Lord-Magus does not need to be nearby to cast his works. Cliopher’s watched him sitting still in his chair as he directs the winds and seas and earth halfway across the planet; a minor healing is probably nothing to his lord.

“You don’t need to attend, you know.”

“I know.”

“It is only…” Conju pauses under the shade of a old tree, taking a breath. The native Voonran species glitters silver in the sun, so Cliopher averts his gaze there as Conju shifts uncomfortably. “Please just let us know if you need a break. When the news came from the guards, there was a period we thought you might be dead, Cliopher! I just – I don’t understand - “

Cliopher feels a stirring of guilt. He’s been so occupied with the problem of magic – and the new stain on his reputation among the Court – that he’s not given much thought how that scene would have been for everyone else. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry!” Conju bursts, grabbing Cliopher’s hand. “I want you to say you’ll talk to us if you need help. You are a very dear friend; it breaks my heart to think you’d let someone hurt you.”

Let him – like there was no magic involved! But -

But Cliopher didn’t do anything the first time Akoni dragged him from the tavern, when he harangued Cliopher into reluctant sex. Even when he slapped Cliopher – so clear-cut a situation that Cliopher’s logical mind finally bade him to leave – even then he didn’t tell anyone, and let Akoni into his rooms again.

He squeezes Conju’s hand, startled to see tears in his friends eyes; more startled, to feel them in his own. “Thank you, Conju. I promise not to push myself.”

Conju pulls out a handkerchief to dab his cheeks, mumbling something Cliopher can’t make out; nobles here tend to be more self-conscious around showing their emotions. Again he politely looks away, and far across the garden sees a familiar figure. Iprenna stares back at him.

The high-priests have an intimidating garb – black-and-silver cloaks, hooded, with masks of gold and silver. Privately Cliopher’s always wondered why the Ouranatha need masks. There might be some obscure magical explanation – hiding their identities from the Fae, perhaps? – but Cliopher finds it more likely they wear them for the same reasons as thieves and assassins.

Are Iprenna and Bavezh both involved? It's hard for Cliopher to imagine one acting without the other. Cliopher wishes he were close enough to interpret Iprenna’s expression, his posture. The magic on Cliopher still holds; but how much longer? The Lord Wizard must be wondering the same. Or perhaps he already knows exactly how long it will take; Cliopher likes this thought even less.

Again he squeezes Conju’s hand; it’s time to return to work.

Conju goes back to his mostly-unobtrusive fussing over the next few days. It’s distracting, but a little nice – not so much because of the way he keeps pressing food and drink on Cliopher, or helping him when his hands fail, but because Cliopher appreciates the comfort of having a friend close-by.

And of not being alone, in general; he still half-expects the Ouranatha to appear suddenly in his rooms as he sleeps. He tries to sleep with a knife under his pillow; but one morning he wakes up to find he’s somehow gashed his forearm and bled all over his sheets in the night, so he shifts it to his bedside table instead.

The first day he’s well enough to sit as secretary for his Radiancy is marred by the occurrence of the Council of Princes. Cliopher half-expects his lord to send a page and tell him not to come; but no such notice arrives. So Cliopher attends, taking notes with his still-tender arm under the gaze of the throne; and, of course, under the muted scrutiny of the royal attendees.

No one is coarse enough to raise the elephant in the room as people filter in. Duchess Melissa speaks to him directly for the first time he remembers to say she’s glad to see his health restored, and Prince Belu makes a few vague noises of agreement, but that’s it.

The Princess of Xiputl accuses the Prince of Amboloyo of encroaching on her territories; he assuredly has, but denies it, and everyone must pretend not to disbelieve him yet nevertheless address the matter. Rufus directly insults Cliopher’s heritage at least five times, which is no more or less than usual; he supposes that’s a good sign. There are ongoing riots in Nijan (there are always riots in Nijan). Jilkano’s been experiencing odd weather – the first time his Radiancy stirs, all session, is to briefly acknowledge he will address this matter. No one presses that point further.

Then they get to the issue of provincial trade.

There’s a group building a small but growing fleet of iron-clad ships; the notion baffles Cliopher more than anything. The Jilkano royal family have concerns about the environmental impact of such vessels on ocean life. This benevolent attention astonishes and delights Cliopher, until it becomes clear they’re just annoyed to have the building – and the taxes – outside their jurisdiction. Cliopher nevertheless promises to set his people on surveying this issue, and makes a note to search out scientists for the task.

“What effects are concerning researchers?” Cliopher asks, at which the Prince of Jilkano-Lazoi hems and haws a bit, and finally admits he does not know, but there was an awful lot of unrelated protesting about underwater mining, and they need something to ‘placate the people.’

...That doesn’t sound related to the metal ships at all, but at least if they prove the new designs are safe, Cliopher can reasonably dig into the actual cause of any protests. He makes another note. Cliopher muses aloud, idly, that the University on Tahivoa might be a good resource, specializing as they do in oceanic matters.

To this Princess Oriana titters, like he’s told a joke. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she says. “They don’t really have scientists on those islands.”

Cliopher pauses, pen still halfway through a word, to stare at her. “Excuse me, Your Grace?”

She straightens, but not from embarrassment; just pleasure at being acknowledged. “They don’t have scientists,” she repeats. “My people can make good boats – I suppose - “ she sounds dubious, “and fishing, and things; though they’re a bit, ah, rustic. Maybe they’d know something about these metal ones. But they aren’t very clever, you know. That’s why they need such guidance.”

Cliopher blinks a moment. “Fascinating,” he says at last. “May I ask what kind of guidance you graciously bestow, Princess Oriana?”

Prince Rufus snorts a little; he is an aggravating ruler, but at least intelligent and invested in his province, whereas Cliopher is not confident Oriana know how many islands she supposedly rules. She sniffs a little, clearly uncomfortable. “I provide the guidance of nobility and civilization,” she decides with a grand sweep of her arms. She looks around like she expects them to be impressed.

“Such as?” Cliopher encourages.

Her face twists, a little. “Like learning to take guidance from actual scholars. My people are simple; they like fishing and lazing about,” as though she ever lifts a finger for work that isn’t placed directly in front of her. “They don’t care about – charts and statistics and things.”

Cliopher could say so, so much about Oriana’s lack of interest in statistics. He would know; he handles most matters of the Vangavaye-ve in her stead. “Has it occurred to you that you’ve simply never interacted with such scientists? Given your reputation for never descending below the Palace?” Or conversing with anyone intelligent, like the professors at the University.

“I know what my people are capable of, Sayo Mdang.”

Cliopher very much doubts it. “Then I suppose you can name the most popular majors of study at the University of the Vangavaye-ve?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Because I would expect you to take at least a modicum of interest in the education of your people, Princess. For context, oceanic science is the third most popular.” A beat. “If you were not aware, most scientific majors include ‘statistics and things.’”

Another snort; this time Cliopher can’t tell from whom it came.

Oriana’s face twists. “I do not know what gives you the idea you can address me in such a way, Sayo Mdang. I will not be insulted by some commoner who doesn’t even have the intelligence of a beaten dog to escape its master; but then I could certainly see why someone would be tempted to put you in your place.”

Cliopher keeps his face stony in the resulting silence. He sets down his pen, opening his mouth to retort.

He doesn’t need to.

For the second time this session, his Radiancy speaks. “You yourself are obnoxious as an animal, madam,” he says. And then he twists his hand in an odd gesture, one Cliopher’s never seen before -

And where Oriana sat is now some horrible amalgamation of a creature – a hammerhead shark, Cliopher identifies, replacing her torso but not her legs. The eyes on either side of the unnatural beast flicker with panic; the huge mouth opens and closes, gills flaring in the open air.

Sharks can survive a long time on land – longer than most fish – but surely this must feel like suffocation. The Princess stumbles to her feet, flailing her fins jerkily; these do not move like human limbs, either. Her nearest cousins leap up in a squeal of chairs and stumble away.

Oriana shakes ferociously as though trying to dislodge this new form, then trips and falls sprawling to the ground. Horrible, ugly sounds gargle from the creature. Cliopher doesn’t know if that’s what a shark ought to sound like; it’s not like one commonly encounters them above water.

Outside Dinezi, anyway.

“An oceanic creature, Princess Oriana, to educate you on your domain. Although perhaps a dog might be more appropriate,” the Lord Magus muses aloud. Still dangerously mild, his eyes cool. “A beaten dog.” He raises his hand.

“My lord,” interjects Cliopher.

All the assembled royalty remain frozen like prey-animals as the Glorious One shifts his regard. Cliopher immediately feels a headache spike at the brief glimpse of sun-gold eyes.

Cliopher bows his head, gaze carefully on his lord’s feet. “I must bring to my lord’s attention,” he says, “the importance of a fair and impartial legal system, and proportionate responses to crimes; perhaps we ought to revisit the issue of policing in Nijan before concluding today.”

The Council holds its breath. The silence is only broken by Oriana’s sputtering. Suddenly she gasps, half a shriek, and falls sprawling to the floor with a thud. Human skin, a human face. She stays splayed there, wheezing.

In this quiet they all hear the rumble of thunder; it was previously a cloudless day. Princess Oriana weeps quietly on the ground.

“Our secretary is correct as usual,” says the Sun-on-Earth, voice serene. “The issue should be revisited; but that is something to schedule for future sessions. You are all dismissed.”

Cliopher has never seen the room empty so fast.

Chapter Text

Cliopher returns to his duties as though they never halted. He expects – something, from his Radiancy; he isn’t sure what. Some sort of talk. Conju still tends to press food on him; Ludvic and Rhodin hover more physically, like they want nothing more than to throw themselves between Cliopher and nonexistent assassins.

But his lord resumes their work as though Cliopher were never missing at all, like he didn’t put himself into a dangerous situation through sheer loneliness. The only difference in routine is that he’s kept up their increased number of meals together, which is a pleasant change.

Then one day Cliopher enters the Imperial Apartments to find his lord conversing with Rhodin. This isn’t one of Rhodin’s usual guard-shifts, so Cliopher frowns. He tries to sit at his usual desk, but the Deputy Commander gestures him over.

“Cliopher, I’m sorry,” he says. “Akoni escaped.”

At first Cliopher doesn’t understand. Conju materializes by his elbow, tugging Cliopher like he wants to help him to a seat; Cliopher shakes him off. “How?”

Rhodin and his lord exchange looks. “I was hoping you might know,” says Rhodin, careful.

It takes a moment; indignant fury blazes through Cliopher. “I hope you are not accusing me of helping someone escape Imperial custody, Ser Rhodin.”

Cliopher would never.

...Unless he figures out where Fitzroy Angursell is kept; but that’s a separate matter.

Rhodin visibly struggles to keep his tone light. “No one would blame for being a bit – affected, if he were to approach you.”

Cliopher snorts despite himself. Affected? Getting beaten by his lover wasn’t a crime; helping him escape a jail-cell certainly would be. “It would be illegal regardless of any personal compromise, Rhodin.”

“There are rules about coercion; you made most of them,” Conju says. He wraps an arm through Cliopher’s own, glowering at Rhodin, who starts to look exasperated.

“Look – I just need to cast a spell to ensure you’re speaking the truth,” he says. “That’s it.”

“Fine,” says Cliopher, clipped. He waits impatiently as Rhodin does so, his Radiancy carefully watching something Cliopher can’t sense. “Well?”

“Just say it again.”

“I did not help Akoni escape prison.”

His Radiancy leans forward, intent. Rhodin frowns, his eyes roving over Cliopher.

Rhodin says, “Say something else. In fact – tell me about the night you were beaten.”

“Ser Rhodin,” snaps Conju, furious. “As though this isn’t hard enough!”

“That’s not what I meant. Cliopher, please, describe what happened.”

The way Rhodin’s studying him gives Cliopher hope. He doesn’t know what they see, but he tries to tell them. Akoni came into my rooms. I’d already tried to leave him. He hit me – this magic prevented me from leaving -

Nothing.

Rhodin turns toward his Radiancy. “My lord, can you please examine Sayo Mdang? There is something… odd, about the magic around him, as I’m sure you can see.”

Shouldn’t it be odd to find any magic around him? But then Cliopher remembers what Rhodin said about the protections.

His Radiancy doesn’t bother moving; an odd pressure squeezes over Cliopher, briefly snatching his breath. It lasts about twenty seconds. Cliopher inhales like he just broke through the surface after a deep dive.

“Interesting,” says his Radiancy. Cliopher stares at him, impatient. “My own magic is – unusual, as I’ve mentioned; a mix of schooled and wild. I will not go into the specifics of how that happened; the magic on you, Sayo Mdang, is also mixed. But not as my magic generally expresses itself… there is something foreign about it. And less tilted toward the schooled side, certainly.”

The pieces start falling into piece. “You are a wild mage,” says Cliopher numbly.

His Radiancy turns from whatever he’s seeing to cast Cliopher a sharp, almost reproving look. He’s brought this up once before, but Cliopher didn’t dwell on it. His lord relents, “I would be. If I were not the Lord Magus.”

A wild mage – like Akoni. They discussed this, and how the Ouranatha were experimenting with wild magic…

The Ouranatha would have been motivated to break him from the cells.

Cliopher tries to explain this; it doesn’t work.

His lord doesn’t seem to notice. Minutes pass as he inspects Cliopher. The Lord-Magus murmurs, “There’s a fracture in this spell. That’s a positive sign. But it keeps slipping away from me. The problem, I think, is that Cliopher consented to whatever this is… probably something that affects his communications. Almost certainly limited to the boundaries of his relationship.”

“Does it affect his actions?” asks Rhodin tersely.

Another hum, another wait. “I do not believe so,” says his lord at last. “No active compulsions; just restrictions. It should, I think, be safe enough for him to go about business normally… but I am afraid we will need to put a guard on you again, Sayo Mdang. At least until that spell is broken. Commander Omo?”

Ludvic is one of the two guards by the doors today; he peels away to approach, saluting. “I will make arrangements, my lord. I would prefer to give Cliopher a guard until we’ve made another arrest, regardless.”

“Very true.” His Radiancy contemplates Cliopher. “I saw that mage, you know, just briefly while speaking with the Ouranatha… he should not have the strength for this.” He shakes his head. “Cliopher. You will move into the Imperial Apartments for the time being.”

Cliopher’s mouth drops open; Conju practically throttles his arm. “My lord!”

“It will be easier on the guards – and you will be safer.”

“An excellent idea, my lord,” Conju speaks before Cliopher can object. “We’ll prepare the rooms at once.”

Cliopher would, usually, argue the move. But he keeps thinking of the Ouranatha, and particularly how Akoni managed to break into his quarters while he was gone.

He’s not sure whether the Ouranatha would be incapable of breaking into the Imperial Apartments; but it certainly isn’t something they’d do lightly. And at least a guard might notice something, he reflects gloomily, if Cliopher were stolen away at night.

So they work as usual.

Because, despite the known spell controlling his speech, Cliopher isn’t suspended from his work. He wants to stay near his Radiancy, so he doesn’t object, but privately he fumes and begins mentally composing a new set of protocols. His lord should know better!

They think they know what the spell is doing, that it’s only to protect Akoni. A terrible assumption. Surely the guards would consider the dangers?

At the end of the day Conju helps Cliopher move his scant few things – looking with great disapproval at Cliopher’s closet, in particular – and he’s given a guest-room in the Imperial Apartments. Not one of the many outer rooms, but in the second set of chambers right beyond his Radiancy’s own. Anyone trying to harm Cliopher would have to get past a good dozen of the Palace’s finest guardsmen. He wishes it weren’t necessary, but the thought is admittedly comforting.

As they’re settling things into Cliopher’s uncomfortably luxurious suite – not a room, but an entire intimidating suite - he tries to tell Conju, his Radiancy may be in danger.

What comes out of his mouth instead: “This really feels excessive.”

“Oh, hush,” says Conju. “The government would fall apart without you.” That feels vaguely blasphemous. “And the Glorious One would agree,” Conju adds. “You probably should have a guard in general, to be frank.”

“Please do not suggest that,” says Cliopher. He might need one now, but Cliopher’s survived several centuries just fine without someone shadowing his every move, thank you.

Conju’s answer is a vague, “We’ll see,” and then he busies himself straightening and inspecting odd corners of the room until he pronounces himself satisfied. “And do tell my staff if you need anything; it’s better to limit the amount of times you go out, anyway.” He sees the look on Cliopher’s face, and amends, “For the time being. Ludvic would agree. But I’ll let you get some rest.”

It’s quiet after Conju goes.

Cliopher thinks of fiddling with his oboe, but the thought of subjecting the guards outside to his poor playing is mortifying, so he does not. He paces a bit – not usually his habit, but these are good quarters for pacing.

He might as well do something productive, and sets himself to answering correspondence. It doesn’t calm him much. He has another excited letter from his mother asking for details about Akoni. A lot of the recent letters, in fact, mention Akoni; his mother is something of a gossip.

Alright, maybe not the best distraction. He manages to fake some positive sentiments through four letters, hinting at a serious disagreement with his lover; it’ll be easier to bear his mother’s disappointment if he sets up the expectation first.

He decides after that he may as well work. These guest-chambers have a lovely desk, but almost too lovely. Cliopher explores the manifold drawers and eventually uncovers a hidden panel in the side which, upon springing open, reveals a vial of something that is probably poison. Or ancient alcohol. Or maybe just an aphrodisiac? Emperor Eritanyr was the sort of person to keep all of the above.

Cliopher closes the panel back up and decides there’s no reason not to work at his usual desk.

So he leaves. He ventures past the guards outside his suite, the guards outside the second level, and the third level, and on and on until he reaches his Radiancy’s primary study near the entrance. The innermost guards barely give him a glance; Cliopher settles down to write.

Shining mage-lights perpetually illuminate the Imperial Apartments; anything else would be a security risk, though Cliopher expects – hopes? – that his Radiancy is allowed to sleep in darkness. Cliopher doesn’t pay attention to the passing hours, but after he’s reviewed some work he pulls out a clean sheet and his magic-primer. He reads awhile, taking a few notes. But he knows it will take more than a few beginner guides to untangle the actions of Zunidh’s high-priests.

They must have hired Akoni for his wild magic. Possibly because his Radiancy is a mage. And everyone knows the wizard’s tower recently exploded in the course of research and experimentation… but what, exactly, are the Ouranatha meaning to do with that research?

It could be some unwanted attempt to be useful. The Ouranatha have their own ideas about the sort of things their god-emperor ought to do - even though his Radiancy is no longer considered an emperor, and certainly would prefer they never take any initiative at all. There are some among the Ouranatha – and among the older fringes of nobility, still – who would be delighted if his Radiancy were able to magically-compel enemies into obedience. It would not be ethical; his lord would never do it; but Cliopher could easily see Bavezh or Iprenna presenting such a technique, specially crafted for their lord’s magic, and expect praise rather than the sure censure that would follow.

It could be that the Ouranatha don’t care about Cliopher, and simply excused Akoni’s enchantments because they were focused on studying someone with magic fractionally similar to his Radiancy’s without care for the repercussions. This is… unfortunately likely, Cliopher decides. He’s a commoner; this alone makes him disposable in the eyes of many nobles.

They could be studying wild magic to learn to strengthen or weaken his Radiancy. Or because they want to learn how wild magic affects the world. Or destroy some portion of the world. Or… any number of things, really. Cliopher is not a mage. He has never so badly wanted to be a mage, because maybe he’d understand more.

He takes a few notes on the introductory text, feeling rather maudlin about how basic they are, and finally puts them back in his kit. Reflecting, he writes a quick note for Kiri. He’ll send it in the morning. Her parents are high in the ranks of the Ouranatha. They’re not local to Solaara, and he finds himself wondering if maybe some more distant priests would be worth recruiting for audits… Would they feel enough loyalty to Iprenna and Bavezh to cover for them, if there’s signs of corruption?

He’s surprised when one of the guards peels away from their posts; even more surprised to realize it’s Commander Omo. He’s fairly certain Ludvic wasn’t here when he arrived, which means a shift-change passed without Cliopher’s notice.

A glance identifies the other guard as Auzevereän today; he keeps his gaze fixed ahead at the wall while Ludvic stops beside Cliopher.

Cliopher is fairly certain the Commander of the Guard doesn’t usually take midnight rotations on the outermost part of the Apartments; he’d expect Ludvic to be right outside his Radiancy’s room, if anything. “Commander.”

“Cliopher,” says Ludvic, refusing to return the formality. “You should sleep; it’s only a few hours until dawn.”

Is it? Cliopher doesn’t feel tired. “I’ll finish soon.”

Ludvic leans against the desk. He always wears an inscrutable expression; moreso than most of the guards, who tend to be surprisingly jocular when they aren’t focused on being straight-faced and stoic before their lord. The affect comes naturally to Ludvic. “I’ve picked out Oginu and Mbangele to rotate as your escort, starting tomorrow.”

Embarrassing; but there’s no point making protests. Cliopher nods. He starts clearing his desk.

“We knew something was wrong, you know,” says Ludvic suddenly. “Conju pulled me aside, at one point. And Rhodin several times. His Radiancy didn’t say anything about it, but he did keep inviting you to meals.” It wouldn’t have occurred to Cliopher to consider that a sign of concern. “We just didn’t know what had happened.”

“I’m well enough now,” says Cliopher curtly. It’s incredibly frustrating how everyone wants him to open up and talk when he genuinely can’t. “There’s nothing more to say.”

“Just the fact you agreed to move here tells me you’re scared,” comes the mild reply. As though Cliopher could just refuse a command from his lord. “You don’t have to pretend otherwise. I’m simply asking you to cooperate with my guards.”

“You must agree it’s unlikely anything will happen.”

“There’s always a chance. Just trust my guards to help; it’s literally our job.”

“Your job is to protect his Radiancy,” says Cliopher, wry.

“I suspect his Radiancy would be materially harmed if you were hurt,” counters Ludvic, which is an exaggeration. “And it would be a great embarrassment if you came to harm under his protection.”

Well; that much is true.

“I thank you for the concern; I’ll follow your suggestion, I think. It is rather late.”

Cliopher feels Ludvic’s gaze follow him as he goes. He experiences a flicker of guilt; but it’s not as though he can open up about anything, even if he wanted to.

Cliopher receives acknowledgments from each set of guards he passes until, at last, he returns to his magnificent guest-rooms. Beautiful though they may be, he feels like an impostor. He switches into sleeping-clothes and settles into bed.

Where he waits. And waits. And finds himself thinking, as always, of his enchantment. The curse.

He consented to it, his Radiancy said. That seems to be the crux of the problem.

And it’s true; Cliopher said yes without thinking each time Akoni asked for his silence. Except that last time… and then the magic faltered.

Is it that easy? He stares up at the beautiful ceiling of the Imperial guest-room. “I don’t consent to this spell,” he murmurs. He feels, of course, nothing. “I do not consent to hold his secrets.”

Nothing, nothing. Cliopher bites his lip. He rolls back to his feet.

His efela case is one of the things he brought with him. He pulls it out now, reverently removing each strand of shells. At the bottom is what he wants; the efani, Ani’s tears, which he has never shown to anyone. He does not know how he would justify having it, on the Islands; no one here would understand. He’s suddenly glad he never showed it to Akoni.

He cradles it to himself. Such a shell shows the favor the ocean, even if Cliopher sometimes doubts it was really meant for him. He hopes it was.

He can’t tell his secrets to his friends in the palace, to his lord. Can he tell them to a god? Can he tell the goddess of the sea?

These rooms, like most rooms in the Imperial Apartments, are absurdly large. For hours into the morning Cliopher spins around the room, half-way dancing through something not-quite the Aōteketētana; he shifts the steps along to a song in his heart. And all the way he whispers truths to the shell in his hands.

“I will not keep his secrets,” he tells it. But he still doesn’t know if anyone hears.

Chapter Text

Cliopher spots the Grand Duchess walking through the halls with no less than three guards – one of them plainly a mage, by his sparkling eyes. When Cliopher tries to approach his feet do not move; the enchantment stops him.

He’s getting heartily sick of magic.

“I thought you were off today,” says Cliopher when Kiri comes to his office. “Weren’t you having breakfast with your parents?” They arrived in Solaara two days ago.

She smiles, closing the door. “I did! I just wanted to check a few things had been handled… oh, don’t you look at me like that, Sir. You great hypocrite.”

Cliopher deserves that. “Anything I need to know?”

She sits in front of his desk. “One thing – Lord Bavezh keeps prying about the audit. Of course I don’t want to say anything until we have a plan in place, but - “

Of course he is. “What have you said?”

“Just that we’re still reviewing. But it was odd… he knew my parents were in town somehow. And kept asking these pointed questions about their work, and then how faithful I am...” she trails off.

Cliopher’s frown deepens. Kiri’s parents are both priests with the Imperial cult. “Did it feel like he means to threaten their positions?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’ll warn them, anyway; they’re both past the age they should be retired. I doubt they’ll care much. I’m not worried, just… it’s not a good sign.”

“No,” Cliopher agrees. “Thank you for telling me.”

He leans back in his chair after she goes. Cliopher pulls out the audit notes again. He scrutinizes the list of excess ritual-ingredients. He definitely needs to report this to the Lord Magus.

His Radiancy is not at ease.

Cliopher’s worked with him long enough to know that. His lord is never strongly emotive, never loud with his feelings. He doesn’t dare, knowing that the slightest burst of anger might lead to a surge of suicides. Or for some well-intentioned enthusiast to execute the source of his ire. Even pleasant emotions can be dangerous. Compliment a painting, and the artist may feel obligated to tithe him all their works; contemplate a woman’s dress, and in a week receive an apprehensive letter nonetheless offering her hand.

His Radiancy has mastered the art of polite courtesies. He can speak with mild interest whilst betraying nothing, never offering his real thoughts, opinions, or preferences. As far as those outside his senior staff might be concerned, he must seem to have no preferences. This is deliberate.

Yet he is, Cliopher knows, ultimately just a man. That was apparent from the start. He paces his office each day brimming with repressed energy. He closes his eyes when in deep thought. He often stares wistfully at fruits he cannot eat; he is impatient with the excessive adulation of worshipers and courtiers, though he never shows them visible displeasure. But Cliopher can tell.

Cliopher cannot, however, discern what his lord feels today. The particular way his Radiancy keeps watching Cliopher – turning to consider him in long pauses between work – it’s not something he recognizes. It reminds him a little of the way Ludvic might sometimes assess Cliopher when there’s a threat; perhaps his Radiancy is worried that the enchantment around him will be dangerous, after all?

(The way his eyes roam over Cliopher… is there something different about the magic? Did his ridiculous appeal to Ani do something?)

Cliopher still hasn’t been dismissed, even with this looming unknown factor of a spell. He imagines Ludvic and Rhodin must have counseled his Radiancy in private, even if they have not done so in front of him. But one does not really argue with the Sun-on-Earth when he announces a decision.

Idly, Cliopher contemplates the flooring. He wonders if the floors, like so many parts of the Imperial Apartments, are also bespelled. They must be, because he’s never noticed any worn spots along the triangle where his lord stalks back and forth.

“What of the Ouranatha?” his lord asks halfway through the morning. “You were, I believe, composing a report?”

Saya Kalikiri did; and if Cliopher cannot paint them as suspects in his case, at least he can reveal their embezzlement.

He says, “Nothing yet, my lord; it is always difficult to schedule time with them. The audit is ongoing.”

His Radiancy accepts this without question. “Then let us turn to the budget for Ikiano.”

Cliopher automatically finds the correct papers in his kit, even as his brain spins furiously.

He vowed to keep Akoni’s secrets, not the priests’. He should be able to talk about a simple audit! Unless it’s somehow related…?

But if the magic is intent-based, as Cliopher suspects, that wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know the embezzlement is related to this predicament.

Except now, abruptly, he’s unsure.

“Cliopher?”

A rare moment of informality; Cliopher quickly rises to hand over his report. “I have corrected Princess Oriana’s figures, of course,” he says.

“Of course,” says his Radiancy. A brief pause. They’re both remembering her floundering, suffocating, during the Council of Princes. With no particular change of expression his lord inquires, “Is she well?”

“Perfectly well, my lord.”

“Hmm,” says his Radiancy. Cliopher resumes his seat. He tries not to wonder whether that tone was disappointed.

“They’ll find him before long,” says Conju, arm looped again through Cliopher’s. He’s been unusually clingy since all this started. “Rhodin and Ludvic are wonderful at their jobs, of course.”

“Of course,” Cliopher agrees.

“And it’s so nice to keep having you for lunch,” Conju says. “I think you should join him for every meal; he eats more when you’re around.”

Cliopher thinks back to all the recent dinners with his Radiancy. “He never has much.”

“Yes – precisely.”

It’s awkward to walk around their usual garden-route trailed by Cliopher’s guard. Not that Cliopher has anything against Mbangele. And Cliopher spends half his waking hours with his Radiancy; he’s well accustomed to the near-omnipresent guardsmen.

“Do you think he seems – not quite Himself?” Cliopher asks.

For a minute he thinks Conju’s going to ignore this admittedly-impertinent question. They pause by the edge of a lovely pond. It’s the time of season for the loons to come out again, though it seems like they were just here a few weeks ago. Or was that months? The Ouranatha always say it causes problems, thinking of the time-distortion too much.

Fuck the Ouranatha, thinks some part of Cliopher, unaccountably crude. He purses his lips and watches the loons dip into glittering silver water.

“His Radiancy used to go through grooms as fast as secretaries, you know,” Conju reflects. “They tended to be utterly silent in their duties; people still remembered Eritanyr, and the sort of things he did when his attendants didn’t measure up. Sometimes he required things – outside their prescribed duties.”

Eritanyr was well-known for his sexual appetites.

“Were you afraid to start working with him?”

“Afraid? No. Never.” That surprises Cliopher. “It was clear even then he didn’t have his uncle’s sadism. I listened to enough gossip to know he didn’t execute anyone lightly; I couldn’t imagine I’d do anything to deserve it that hadn’t already happened, that had been excused. And if he was otherwise a tyrant, or unbearable, well. I could just leave.”

Yes; Conju is nobly-born, which would give him a little more assurance. Not much; his Radiancy could execute even a Prince, though it would cause trouble. But it was still more protection than Cliopher had, as a fifth-degree secretary in disgrace, wondering if he’d be killed for looking the Sun-on-Earth in the eyes.

“I would have left,” Conju repeats, as though to himself. “Even if I were just a little unhappy. I never needed the position; I wanted it. To be in court, to handle fine clothes and plan events and to just… be useful, somewhere. I enjoy it. I stayed mostly because I thought he was a good lord, and that he deserved someone to look after him properly. Our lord does not rule by fear, nor by putting down his people.”

“He has no need for that.”

“He would not do it regardless,” says Conju. Which is true. “So I do not know why you keep acting like you expect him to do something monstrous.”

Cliopher reflexively glances at Mbangele, who's fascinated by the water-lilies several feet away. How kind of him. “I do not.”

“You do. Do you really think he would punish you for this? It is a headache, no doubt, but it is not your fault.”

Cliopher isn’t so sure. Whatever Conju sees in Cliopher’s face makes him soften. More gently, he adds, “You know our lord so well; you know he is better than that.”

“He would not judge me for being hurt,” Cliopher agrees, distant. “But Akoni is a security threat – one I let inside. Again. Because I ignored protocol.”

It takes Cliopher a moment to realize he just named Akoni as a threat. Said that he hurt Cliopher. He’s never been able to do that before. His throat itches, and Cliopher rubs it absently.

“I think more than anything he’s worried about you.”

“Worried? I thought you said there was no cause for worry.”

Conju sniffs, but it evidently unwilling to dig further into blasphemy. Implying their lord might fret over a secretary is, definitely, blasphemous. “Sometimes I think you care so much for the world you do not have enough compassion left for yourself. But I am not going to argue with you forever.”

They start back – Mbangele visibly relieved at this end to any heretical mutterings. This time they take a more winding route. It’s a pleasant day, a little cool. Cliopher wonders what the season is in the Vangavaye-ve. But the Ouranatha say -

Well, nevermind what the Ouranatha say.

“Oh, by the way,” says Conju, in such a casual fashion Cliopher is immediately suspicious, “Rhodin and I will be attending the festival downtown tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like to join us.”

Tomorrow? Cliopher mentally runs over the work that’s piled up. He shakes his head.

“And, as a note, I encourage you to accept; you cannot stay in the Palace tomorrow. For security reasons.”

Cliopher's baffled. “Security reasons? What do you mean?”

Conju waves a hand. “Oh, Ludvic’s handling things. Best not to worry about it.”

It is in fact Cliopher’s job to worry about – well, everything that happens in the Palace of Stars. And the rest of Zunidh; he is a professional at interference. But something about Conju’s stiff posture stills his tongue.

He knows his friends must be worried. Maybe Conju will feel better after a day together. It just feels so irresponsible to relax in town when Cliopher’s been cursed.

They’re halfway back to the Imperial Apartments when Conju tenses, tucking a hand under his elbow. “Let us hurry,” he mutters. Mbangele steps closer, perhaps seeing his unease.

“Conju?”

“Sayo Mdang – if you have a moment?”

Oh.

Iprenna sweeps toward them. He’s in full ritual garb with the customary silver mask just visible under his overlong hood. The shining gray robes of the Ouranatha drift behind his quick strides. “Sayo Mdang,” he repeats. “About the audit - “

“That is something you should address with Saya Kalikiri, as she completed it.”

“When you have an occasion, Sayo Mdang, we would speak with you about some matters that have arisen.”

“You may submit any reports or requests to the Offices,” repeats Cliopher.

“Surely it would be more efficient to speak with you directly? Saya Kalikiri is not - “

“Do you have a complaint about her conduct?” Cliopher challenges.

A pause. They both know the Ouranatha are not worried about the audit. “Yes,” Iprenna decides. “I do. We should discuss - “

“Then I invite you to submit a report, and we will investigate. Excuse me.” Cliopher pulls Conju with him, moving quickly away. Iprenna doesn’t follow.

“I don’t blame you for putting that off,” Conju mutters after he’s no longer visible. Cliopher glances over, but is disappointed to find his friend doesn’t seem surprised or alarmed by the exchange. “Off-putting, aren’t they? Yes, I know we must respect them. But they try to be disturbing, I think, so I can say it…”

That night is much the same as the ones before. Cliopher tries to sleep; he cannot. He finally gets up and staggers back outside to sit at his typical desk and work under the sober regard of the guards.

He will dance again and give his prayers to Ani before the dawn; somehow the dawn seems a better time for it. Sunlight through the darkness, he thinks to himself, blearily. Yes; new light uncovering truths. Cliopher is not mage, but he knows the lore of gods and magic, and his half-invented dance is for the dawn.

But he's impatient. He sits with his reports and works intermittently. Cliopher can’t seem to focus. That is not like him, either; he is just so tired.

He’s debating the merits of a midnight coffee when Conju enters the study with two mugs.

Conju has his own household, his own rooms, and no need to wander about the Imperial study at this hour. Cliopher jumps to his feet, chagrined; the guards changed within the last quarter-bell. He eyes the nearer ones, who stare carefully ahead and do not meet his reproach.

“You are a ridiculous man,” Conju sniffs, handing over a cup. Hot chocolate, not coffee. Conju’s wearing a fanciful nightgown, stylish even in rest. “I will tell his Radiancy, you know, if you keep this up. He doesn’t need you collapsing.”

Cliopher bites back his first, annoyed response, which is that he’s not some young child with a curfew; his own irritation probably proves his need for sleep. Cliopher takes the drink. Conju makes excellent chocolate. “I hope I did not wake you,” he says after a moment grappling for control.

Conju hums, which is not a denial. They sit down and sip the chocolate awhile. Conju says, “His Radiancy often has trouble sleeping.”

It startles Cliopher; Conju’s very protective of their lord's privacy. “That’s not really my business.”

“He wouldn’t mind you knowing,” Conju dismisses. “Anyway, the difference is that he often wakes from sleep; do you even try?”

“Yes,” says Cliopher, now really annoyed. “I just - “

He falters. Conju’s looking at him with such sympathy he feels embarrassed. Cliopher takes another sip of chocolate.

“I get caught up in my own thoughts,” says Cliopher at last. “It’s easier to work until I’m tired enough.”

“Until you're exhausted, you mean. I could ask the doctors for something?”

Cliopher shakes his head. “I don’t mean to keep you awake, Conju.”

Conju ignores this. “You’re still recovering, too. Domina Audry wanted you on light work; I’m sure this isn’t what she had in mind.”

“There’s always something to do.”

“Yes. But it doesn’t all have to be handled by you personally. You act like you’re never satisfied with yourself."

Because Cliopher isn’t. As his goals for government get closer, new ones appear on horizon; each progressive victory leads to more possibilities.

And that doesn’t even involve the issue of Akoni’s enchantment, which he really does have to handle alone. “I like to ensure that important things are done properly.”

“So you don’t trust your people? Don’t answer that. One day you’ll learn to ask for help, Cliopher. Now let me put that away – don’t argue – and get some sleep!”

Cliopher goes back to his rooms; but he does not sleep. He dances instead, and prays, and wonders where Akoni fled.

“And what of the audit on the Ouranatha?” his Radiancy asks the next time Cliopher attends him.

“Ongoing, my lord,” says Cliopher against his will.

Behind the Imperial desk Conju glances up. He’s setting out a pitcher of water and removing the worn pens. He frowns briefly at Cliopher, who experiences a leap of hope; but the Groom of the Chamber doesn’t challenge him. He just keeps working.

“Then let’s discuss the maintenance budget next,” his Radiancy decides, and the day moves on with no surprises.

Chapter Text

After a long morning dancing and praying over his efani Cliopher takes out a sheet of paper.

He sits posed over it for long minutes. He tries, as he tried before, to get around his enchantment. His Radiancy is in danger only gets a long, jagged slash of ink across the page. The Ouranatha helped Akoni becomes a whirling, confused doodle. Cliopher finds the spell degraded enough to say, Akoni hurt me, but that doesn’t help him. Everyone knows that.

He writes another word, another thing Akoni has done; but that wouldn’t help either. He scribbles it out on purpose; his quill tears through the page.

He tries and tries. He tears more paper, drips ink all over. His head aches tremendously; his breath starts to come in gasps. His heart races an uneven beat. Tears blur his vision.

Cliopher finally collapses into a strange fit of weeping. He hasn’t wept like this in years, not since the aftermath of the Fall when he heard the seas were impassable and Alinor too. But when he finally calms enough to lift his head, he sees he was able to write just a few words: check the Ouranatha.

It’s not enough. Cliopher thrusts the scrap of paper into his writing kit and goes to work.

His Radiancy invites Cliopher to lunch.

Lately these invitations have become so frequent that Cliopher isn’t surprised. Not until his lord pauses at the table, asking politely to cast some magic upon him. “To check,” his lord says, without elaborating.

Cliopher assents; how could he do anything else?

His lord waves his hands. They sit at the table for several silent minutes as Conju and his attendants settle things perfectly; Conju’s already filled his lord’s plate and glass when his Radiancy stirs. “Very good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I am pleased to say, Cliopher, the magic we discussed is weakening. There is something like the ocean about you,” he adds, idly. “There always is, but it is more pronounced; you seem to be throwing off the enchantment naturally.”

Cliopher feels his shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you for checking, my lord.” It is not natural, but Cliopher can’t see a sane way to explain that the ocean herself is helping him. Once this is over he needs to write the zama and ask how to give thanks.

His lord seems satisfied, anyway. The meal is excellent, and as he sips some delicious Jilkani tea Cliopher privately admits he is glad to be in the Imperial Apartments, and not the Alinorel wing. He would fear every instant for the Ouranatha to return; at least he’s certain they cannot assail him with new spells or enchantments right in front of his Radiancy.

It still bothers Cliopher to imagine that Akoni – or indeed Akoni and all the Ouranatha combined – could cast a spell that Cliopher’s lord can’t undo. That niggles at him.

He tries again to say, the Ouranatha plot against you. But the words won’t come.

His Radiancy asks how Cliopher is finding the rooms. “They are lovely, of course,” Cliopher demurs. “Your generosity is appreciated, my lord; but how much longer should I remain here?”

“Until your safety is assured, certainly,” says his Radiancy. His voice is unusually pointed. “Your – acquaintance – has not yet been found.”

Acquaintance. How very polite. “And if he is not captured?” Cliopher suggests; unlikely as it is, Akoni could have fallen into some random portal between worlds for all they know.

The Glorious One considers this question with a little hum, sipping his own tea. “Then I suppose you will just need to stay,” he says, with a curve to his lips; but Cliopher isn’t sure he’s joking.

Rhodin takes the place of Cliopher’s guard that evening, given they’re both attending the festival with Conju. Conju, in Cliopher’s experience, likes looking around for odd little trinkets and baubles; Rhodin prefers to sample as many food-carts as possible before collapsing happily toward the end of the night. Though his guard-duty, alas, probably prevents the possibility of alcohol.

The night is pleasantly cool, the crowded streets alight with laughter and beautiful colored lanterns leaving the stall-fronts aglow. They’re all dressed down for the occasion – unlike many of the city-locals, dressed sometimes in great finery. Solaara is a city where everything is for appearances. Cliopher can’t imagine what it would be like to grow to adulthood here, surrounded by splendor and competition.

Cliopher’s a little surprised he’s even allowed outside the Palace, given the enchantments on him, and his Radiancy’s recent hovering. But mostly the enchantments; he mentally notes that he ought to consider that in his Protocols, too.

As they walk Cliopher finds himself eyeing Rhodin.

He doesn’t know much about the spymaster’s craft. Over the years Rhodin’s shown him a few tricks (including pointing out hiding-spots and secret passageways in the Palace, of which there’s an alarming number). But he has no idea how Rhodin gets most of his information.

He’s still baffled Rhodin didn’t notice Akoni’s behavior; maybe the spy-network isn’t as thorough as he thought. The notion seems ungenerous, however. It’s possible Akoni’s magical skill contributed to Rhodin’s ignorance.

Still… Cliopher wonders. Is there any potential that Akoni could find him here? Would he even try?

Cliopher tries subtly to ask his friends how magical tracking works; unsurprisingly, they see right through him.

“No one’s getting through to you,” says Rhodin firmly. “His Radiancy’s spells would prevent anyone from tracking you with magic. We have experienced people trying to kill you all the time, one angry civilian isn’t going to get past our guards.”

“I – how often, exactly, do people try to kill me?” asks Cliopher. He only knows about a few occasions.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s actually been a lull since Himself turned Princess Oriana into a shark. Somehow that was more effective than the threat of execution.”

“Well. I wonder why.”

Also, it hasn’t been very long since that Council… how can that be considered a ‘lull?’

“Cowards,” Conju sniffs. “If someone’s going to hire assassins, they should be prepared for the consequences.”

He says it with such a knowing air of experience that Cliopher opens his mouth for a question, then promptly closes it. There are some things he does not want to know about his aristocratic friends.

Conju shows an unusual interest in the shrine they pass. He loops an arm through Cliopher’s and practically drags him toward it. “This is a festival to celebrate the Sun,” he reasons. “You should ask for a blessing.”

Cliopher almost asks, why me? except that it’s not hard to imagine why his friends think he needs a little extra luck. Instead he says, “Our lord wouldn’t like it.”

“He doesn’t like prayers to the Sun-on-Earth; the Sun in the sky is a different matter entirely.” True. “And aren’t you auditing the Ouranatha? You should see them at work.”

Cliopher’s willingness dies immediately. “I would rather not engage with them in this capacity.”

Conju frowns at him. To Cliopher’s bewilderment Rhodin pats his shoulder, joining the effort to steer Cliopher toward the festival’s makeshift shrine. “Conju’s right, it’s a festival to honor the sun. Never a good idea to disrespect gods.”

“Well,” starts Cliopher, uncertain how to dispute this. He’s been praying to the ocean, and indeed it seems like she took heed. “But I - “

“They’re giving protective-blessings,” Conju adds, and Cliopher relents. Ani’s favor seems to be helping him; it can’t hurt.

And surely the Ouranatha wouldn’t try anything here?

Still, Cliopher’s relieved to see the little shrine is only run by a few junior priests. They naturally recognize Rhodin, Conju, and Cliopher, who take blessings from the most senior member of the group; she acts a little nervous. Cliopher sees one of the younger initiates darting away through the crowd – possibly a messenger, or maybe just excited by the festival.

There’s a pot of fire at the head of the shrine. People are encouraged to throw in slices of apple as they make their prayers. Cliopher pauses, asking Conju, “Are apples significant to the Sun in some way?”

Both Rhodin and Conju adopt similar pained expressions. “...I’ll give you a book when we get back,” says Conju, long-suffering. “Honestly, you work with the Sun-on-Earth, Cliopher…”

The Sun-on-Earth can’t even eat apples, Cliopher thinks mutinously. He tosses in his slice, and only belatedly remembers to murmur a quick prayer in Islander, asking the Sun’s protection from malevolent magics.

The rest of the evening is pleasant. They stop to watch an outdoors comedy act, buying some sort of savory foreign pastry that bursts and crackles in their mouths. Cliopher suspects more magic until Rhodin launches into an explanation of sugar glazing and different pastry textures.

It’s well after sunset when they turn back toward the Palace. Thick crowds still bustle past; overhead small fireworks burst into the sky, splintering apart in a shower of sparks.

Cliopher’s always liked fireworks, but he inevitably gets distracted trying to imagine ways to set the sky alight for more than an instant. Now that would be something fun to bring back home. But alas, the smoke of these baubles has been proven bad for the environment. Cliopher’s started the process of regulating them instead.

“Is that one of the high-priests?” Conju asks. “Are they presiding over a ritual? I’ve never seen the head of the Ouranatha at a festival.”

Cliopher stops walking.

It takes a moment, but he follows Conju’s gaze across the crowds. The silvery-clad Ouranatha stands out not so much for his uniform, but because of the wide berth the crowd gives him. Cliopher can’t immediately determine whether it’s Iprenna or Bavezh; they wear a mask in the shape of the moon.

Whoever it is, they approach rapidly. Rhodin and Conju halt as well. Just as the figure reaches them, more shapes melt forth from the crowds. A second figure wearing the mask of a sun-in-glory, and three lesser Ouranatha.

“Sayo Mdang,” says the figure wearing the moon. “Come with us, please.”

Cliopher cannot think of anything he wants to do less, except perhaps go somewhere with Akoni; and he has an ominous feeling the moon-priest would lead him there. He steps back automatically; Rhodin shoulders in front of him, and Conju darts back to wrap an arm over Cliopher’s waist.

They must sense something dangerous, even if they don’t understand what’s happening. “For what reason?” Conju demands.

“Ritual purposes,” says the high-priest. “He is needed immediately.” Two of the lesser Ouranatha start forward.

“That is enough,” says Rhodin sharply. “Why are you even here? Did you follow Cliopher from the Palace?”

It’s a fair question. The uneasy circle of space around them exists for a reason; the Ouranatha don’t tend to wander through town in official robes. The initiates probably visit, from time to time, but Iprenna and Bavezh rarely leave their tower at all.

Cliopher thinks about the shrine, and the initiate who ran off. But surely the initiates can’t be involved.

The two masked priests trade looks. “That is not your business, guardsman. He is needed. You have no right to withhold him.”

“I am under orders from the Lord Magus to ensure Sayo Mdang’s safety.” There’s nothing left of the warm humor in Rhodin’s voice. Cliopher sees him finger something at his waist – the handle of a small blade.

But surely Rhodin wouldn’t – not against the high priests -

“You are free to debate the matter with Himself,” Rhodin adds. “But I don’t see that anything could be urgent enough to require Sayo Mdang’s presence without His permission.”

“We will remember your lack of cooperation,” says one. Bavezh, Cliopher’s fairly certain. It’s disturbing to confirm both the high-priests are involved in – whatever this is.

“I am surely flattered to come to the notice of the Lord Wizards,” says Rhodin. He waits tense in front of Cliopher until the Ouranatha disappear through the crowd.

Conju jolts forward once they’re gone. “What was that?” he hisses, wide-eyed.

Rhodin shakes his head. His hand, Cliopher notes, remains on his weapon. “I’m not sure. Cliopher, you’re running some sort of audit on them?”

They haven’t made the connection to Akoni. But why would they? The Ouranatha shouldn’t concern themselves with the love-life of a new initiate. “Yes,” says Cliopher. He tries to say, they are embezzling, but out comes, “It is ongoing.” Conju casts him a frown.

“Hmm,” says Rhodin. He turns on heel, circling slowly while he scans the crowd. “Of course we expected them to see you eventually. But his Radiancy hasn’t even approached them yet, and they haven't said anything - "

“What?”

“Nevermind. We should get back; I’d prefer to see you in the Imperial Apartments.”

It’s odd for the Ouranatha to approach him in town – but perhaps not, Cliopher thinks, when he’s living with the Presence and constantly surrounded by guards. They probably couldn't find a better opening.

Conju exhales. “Do you think Ludvic’s done with…?”

“Oh, probably. By the way, Cliopher, we’ve gotten rid of your rooms in the Alinorel wing.”

“What?”

They have, in fact, gotten rid of his rooms.

“His Radiancy still wants you in the Imperial Apartments for now, of course,” say Rhodin, waving Cliopher inside. “But – well, it would certainly cause some talk if you stay there - “

“More than it already has,” adds Conju derisively. “Though I think the damage is done.”

“Yes. Well. The Glorious One apparently didn’t realize you were nearly an hour away - “

“Forty minutes,” Cliopher mutters. He counted.

“ - and figured you should be closer,” Rhodin adds doggedly. “There’s a guard posted right across the hall, too, so it’s much safer.”

“And another one at the end of the hall,” Conju says. “And a page stationed permanently down the corridor.”

“Oh,” says Cliopher, quite baffled how he’s meant to receive this. “...but you cannot mean all of it?”

The rooms – the sprawling suite of rooms – are obscenely grandiose. As they step through, the kitchen alone could rival the size of his previous apartments.

“I did tell you your rooms were too small,” Conju sniffs. “This is much more appropriate to your station. Ludvic helped with the move, so everything in here has been checked-over. Isn’t it a lovely space?”

“I’m not any sort of nobility.”

“You’re the head of the world’s entire bureaucracy; it’s appropriate. And now you can entertain here, if necessary.”

Cliopher cannot imagine anything he’d enjoy less than ‘entertaining’ foreign dignitaries in his own rooms. He says, “Hmm.”

“Of course it would probably be best to get you your own household staff,” Conju continues.

“That is completely unnecessary,” says Cliopher firmly.

Rhodin and Conju exchange the long-suffering looks of born aristocrats who can’t quite understand why anyone would object to being trailed around by servants. “Well, perhaps something to discuss later,” says Rhodin. “Anyway, you should consider how you want it all furnished; his Radiancy has put it under the palace budget.”

What? Absolutely not. Cliopher swells with the beginnings of a rant.

Cliopher’s friends keep ignoring his very well-reasoned arguments to stay in the Alinorel wing with the admittedly compelling rebuttal, “his Radiancy said so.” Hard to argue with that. Though Cliopher does, of course.

Conju eventually tells him, “if you keep arguing I will tell Himself that you’re just reluctant to ever leave His apartments,” which is such a mortifying scenario Cliopher stops at once.

He expects Conju or Rhodin to bring up the Ouranatha. Cliopher isn’t sure whether he anticipates or dreads that conversation – could his awkward inability to answer provoke suspicion?

But neither mention it. They leave Cliopher back at the Apartments, and Cliopher settles again in the study. He brings out his slip of paper, the one that took him ages and a fit of crying to write. Check the Ouranatha, it says.

He tries to step back out, to show it to a guard; his feet don’t move. He tries to drop it on the floor, where someone will find it. He can’t.

Cliopher slips it back into his writing-kit.

And then he works.

It’s still odd to work here at night, with none of his Radiancy’s rhythmic pacing. Not that Cliopher hasn’t been here late, before; but usually that’s for emergencies.

There’s such a strange, restrained energy to his lord that Cliopher would probably offer to teach him a dance were he anyone else. Not that he can imagine the Glorious One dancing; but he ought to be able to move and run, Cliopher thinks. He’s only had a guard for several days – one who does not follow Cliopher into his bedroom, or the bathroom – and it’s already rendering him restless.

Cliopher’s distracted from his work, and so deeply thinking of his Radiancy, that he only stares for a blank moment when the far door opens and He appears.

His lord, interestingly, does not falter at Cliopher’s presence. Cliopher recalls his suspicion that the guards fetched Conju the night before… but that couldn’t have happened here. No one would wake the Sun-on-Earth because his secretary couldn’t sleep.

Cliopher leaps to his feet to make obeisance. His Radiancy waves him up casually, immediately taking a seat at his desk while his personal guards situate themselves at the door. The guards, at least, seem to expect him to remain awhile. “I hope you do not always work so late, Cliopher. You haven’t complained of overwork.”

“No, my lord,” says Cliopher automatically, dismayed by the assumption. “I am not overworked.”

“And yet you are here, again, at the second bell past midnight.”

Have the guards been talking about him? Surely not. Perhaps Conju mentioned their chat in passing. “If I cannot sleep, I may as well be productive.”

His Radiancy hums without answering. It’s only then that Cliopher notices the small case at his side. “A harp?” he asks, forgetting himself in his surprise.

“A lyre,” his Radiancy says, smiling slightly. “I have not, alas, played a full harp in years. I hope you would not mind the noise?”

“They are your apartments, my lord.” Cliopher is mostly distracted by the notion that his Radiancy can play; he’s never heard rumor of that, not for all their centuries together.

It takes him a minute to realize that his lord is still watching Cliopher, eyebrow raised. Cliopher amends: “Music would be pleasant.”

His Radiancy smiles again – like Cliopher did something correct – and takes out his lyre.

It’s a surprisingly simple instrument, but the sound it makes is sweet. Cliopher tries to return to his work. He does not mean to stare, not here in his Radiancy’s own apartments, the one place his lord might expect at least the thinnest modicum of privacy during these nighttime hours.

But the music is too beautiful to ignore. It’s soft like a lullaby, lilting and swaying at odd places like the murmur of two lovers in conversation. Something in Cliopher’s tense muscles rebel at the idea of relaxing. But he can’t help it, and feels again the strange urge to cry. He usually isn’t shy about his emotions, but Cliopher struggles to repress them now. His Radiancy honors him by allowing Cliopher to stay; he cannot imagine his lord’s reaction if Cliopher were to burst into tears at the sound of his song.

He soon sets down his pen entirely, incapable of even the pretense of work. He doesn’t know how long he stays there listening. But Cliopher is not in attendance on his lord – however strange it is, to simply be coexisting in a space – so when he finds it hard to keep his eyes open Cliopher stirs enough to offer a departing bow and retreat to his borrowed rooms.

He manages to grab a scant hour of sleep before he rises with the dawn, again, to dance. As he whispers to his shell he thinks of the night before. He feels a new longing in his heart. Cliopher wonders if his lord would ever be able to think of Cliopher as a friend in truth – but for now, he has more immediate concerns.

Chapter Text

Cliopher consults his writing case repeatedly as he waits for Kiri. Check the Ouranatha, his little note says. He can leave it on his desk awhile, he finds, but putting it somewhere obvious escapes him. The enchantment keeps weakening, but it isn’t gone.

He needs to attend his Radiancy soon. It’s not like Kiri to be late, but all sorts of emergencies arise in the Palace. Eventually he can’t wait any longer and heads back to the Imperial Apartments, Oginu trailing silently.

It’s still a bit strange, to have three guardsmen standing inside as they work.

His Radiancy doesn’t mention that strange interlude the night before, when he came out and showed his skill at the lyre. So Cliopher doesn’t either. Instead they address the usual sorts of problems that arise, and particularly a recent earthquake in Mgunai. Cliopher’s focus is more on the logistical issues; his lord paces and mumbles awhile, mostly to himself, contemplating how to address it magically. He gives Cliopher a few odd and vague instructions – “tell the city mayor to keep no less than twelve poppies planted around the city’s boundary,” etc, which must have some magical significance to his weather-working.

Cliopher’s tired. Lately he’s always tired. Conju comes in twice before noon with coffee. It’s good, but Cliopher thinks wistfully of his favorite Vangavayen blend. Then he remembers the Islander coffee Akoni shared one evening, and abandons that thought.

Thinking about Akoni makes him feel so small.

“We will have to await further reply for anything more,” his Radiancy says, pacing around the room one last time as Cliopher finishes his letter to the mayor. “What is next?”

“A complaint from the court of Southern Dair, my lord. There have been protests regarding the latest tax law on luxury goods, and the Prince of Southern Dair says…”

He’s interrupted by the stamp of spears. The guards announce an incoming message; a nervous page scuttles in, practically flattens themselves on the floor in obeisance, and hands Cliopher a note.

Cliopher frowns. His Radiancy waits, head tilted; no one dares interrupt their morning sessions without good reason. “My lord, I’ve been informed Saya Kalikiri never arrived this morning; I can confirm she missed our own appointment. She did not send any word, and Aioru can’t locate her...”

His Radiancy hums. “You would like to attend the Offices?”

“If my lord has need of me..."

His Radiancy waves a hand. “I need to check on the earthquake; let us know what you discover.” He wheels around to take a seat at his desk, immediately leaning back in the posture he assumes when drifting into trance.

Cliopher bows – though his Radiancy, already, isn’t looking at him – and starts to gather his things.

Cliopher wavers over his desk for a moment. He tries to leave the little scrap of paper when he goes. But against his will he tucks it into his writing kit, and his feet take him out the door.

“There’s not really much to say, Sir,” Aioru tells him. “She just hasn’t shown up. I sent a guard to check her quarters; no one’s there. It’s really not like her… but maybe a message got misdirected.”

“Maybe,” Cliopher echoes. But he can’t stop thinking about the audit.

Kiri has probably forgotten it already, or else expects Cliopher will be handling it with his Radiancy. Except Cliopher, of course, can’t mention the audit. Because it’s somehow related to Akoni.

“I can manage things fine, Sir, if you want to attend his Radiancy,” says Aioru briskly. There’s a small crease of worry along his brow, but indeed the energy of the office is nothing unusual. “It may be nothing, and we can handle things here. Maybe there was an emergency with one of her daughters?”

But Cliopher knows in his gut that’s not the truth. You should speak with Saya Kalikiri, he kept telling the Ouranatha. Because he thought she would be safe; he thought they had no reason to hurt her. That was a mistake.

Mbangele has replaced Oginu, and he stands by listening to the conversation with only mild interest. She’s been taken, Cliopher wants to say. It’s only a guess, but it feels true. You need to search for her – you need to find her -

Mbangele notices Cliopher’s gaze. He tilts his head, a mute question.

Cliopher looks away. “I don’t doubt it,” he assures Aioru.

Perhaps he can look for Kiri? But the only place he can think to look is the Wizard’s-Tower.

Which, he realizes glumly, is probably what they’re hoping he’ll do…

“I’m sure she’ll turn up soon,” Aioru says.

Cliopher does indeed return to his Radiancy, who is maddeningly unconcerned. In fairness Cliopher would also assume a personal emergency on any other day – not a kidnapping. But he stews in frustrated silence as he transcribes for the emperor, suddenly understanding why his lord spends every day pacing.

He needs to do something. But he can’t figure out what.

It occurs to Cliopher that Kiri’s parents are in the priesthood; he knows she was visiting them recently. But he can’t imagine they’d hurt their own daughter. Nevertheless he writes a quick note, and after lunch sends it off with a page to find them and ask for Kiri’s whereabouts.

It’s an enormous overreach when she’s only been gone a few hours. Cliopher won’t be able to explain himself if she turns up today. But he isn’t surprised, a few hours later, when the page returns to report that they haven’t seen her and don’t know about any personal emergencies. They must assume she’s needed for an urgent matter of state, because the reply comes across as apologetic but unconcerned.

Cliopher checks in with the office at the end of the day, where Aioru – now a little more worried – confirms he still hasn’t seen Kiri. Cliopher thanks him and contemplates taking a walk in the garden.

“Excuse me, Sir,” says Mbangele. “But Commander Omo was wanting to speak with you, if your work is done.”

“Does he?” Cliopher frowns; he hasn’t noticed any messengers. “Very well.”

A trickle of unease claws up Cliopher as he follows Mbangele. He begins to recognize the route. “He’s at the Wizard’s Tower?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Mbangele, and does not explain.

Cliopher takes a deep breath as they greet the young initiate at the Tower’s entrance, explaining they’re here to join Ludvic and the ‘senior priests.’ He’s relieved when they walk through a maze of rooms to find Ludvic standing alone with a cloaked but slight figure; from the frame alone he knows it isn’t Iprenna or Bavezh.

“What’s this about?” Cliopher asks.

The guards exchange glances. “Cliopher. His Radiancy wants the head priests to examine the binding on you,” says Ludvic.

“He can’t do it himself?” Cliopher asks sharply.

If Ludvic finds this a presumptuous idea, he doesn’t say so. “He said there’s something about the spell that tries to… cling to his magic. I don’t know what that means, but it might be intended to entrap him. We can’t risk that it could be tailored for his Radiancy; anyone who knows you would expect him to trying dissolving the spell.” And if the priests are killed, that is a lesser sacrifice than the Sun-on-Earth, goes unspoken.

Except the priests did this to Cliopher. He tries to protest. But even minor prevarications get stuck in his throat. I don’t feel good, maybe we could try this later… perhaps we should research more first…

All of these would be out of character, and therefore suspicious, Cliopher concludes. The spell silencing him is too clever.

He looks at the silent priest. It’s interesting that his lord hasn’t brought Iprenna or Bavezh. Maybe he suspects something? The thought heartens Cliopher. “Fine.”

The figure bows slightly. “Come with me, please,” says a soft voice. Perhaps female? “Commander, I must ask you to remain here; the rituals are delicate.”

“Of course,” says Ludvic, even as Cliopher’s anxiety reasserts itself.

But all the Ouranatha can’t be involved, he thinks as he follows her into the next room. He finds a large space with markings on the floor, and a table filled with odd objects and bowls of incense. Two more doors stand on the opposite end of the room. No reason to think this is anything but a normal magical purification.

Then one of the doors opens. Akoni walks through.

Cliopher immediately starts back toward the first door – but he jerks to a halt, tugged by something invisible. The damned spell.

The priestess drifts over to the table without reacting to his alarmed twitching.

“Kip!” Akoni cries. He sounds joyful, like a friend - or lover - reuniting after months apart. He bounds up, takes Kip by the arm, and kisses him. “Oh, Kip...”

Cliopher turns his face aside, grimacing as Akoni kisses down his cheek. The senior Ouranatha staff turns and watches without moving to intercede.

Cliopher makes a mental note: whenever this is over, whenever his lord inevitably fixes things, he needs to overhaul the Ouranatha’s hiring-policies.

“Kip, I’m so glad to see you,” says Akoni.

Cliopher asks, “Where is Kiri?”

“What?”

“Saya Kalikiri. The Minister of the Public Weal,” Cliopher seethes. Akoni regards him with bemusement. “I know you did something to her.”

“What, your underling? She wouldn’t help us,” Akoni says. “Bavezh was furious. Her parents are priests!”

“What did you do?” Cliopher demands again. “Where is she?”

But they don’t answer. “Kip, forget it, that’s not important,” Akoni says. “You’re always so high-strung. Didn’t you miss me?” He kisses Cliopher’s cheek again, almost playful.

The touch drags their bodies together. Cliopher flinches from the hard shape that rubs against his thigh.

He wants to ask more questions, demand answers. He’s worried about Kiri. But Akoni nuzzles his face, pressing Cliopher tight to his chest, and nips at his throat. His breath is hot and heavy. It wafts wetly across Cliopher’s skin, and he shudders.

So Cliopher only says, “Stop.” It comes out pathetically weak. Akoni ignores him.

Belatedly Cliopher remembers that he might not be able to fight, but he can pull away. The disgust at himself nearly rivals his distaste for Akoni. He squirms and thrashes.

Akoni gives him more space, but keeps a tight hold on Cliopher’s arm. Cliopher finds he still can’t punch or kick. “Don’t be like that. Look, don’t you want to help the Ouranatha? And me?”

“I do not.”

“I think you just like being contrary, sometimes.”

Cliopher’s been accused of that before. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. “You can’t care about me that much. The Ouranatha can’t offer you anything; you’re already wanted by the Guard. Why haven’t you left?”

“The Ouranatha will reward me once they have your Emperor under control.”

Cliopher ignores the chill this evokes. No magic can control the Lord Magus. He refuses to contemplate it. “But reward you with what?”

“Enough power that everyone at home will respect me.”

Maybe it’s the stress, but Cliopher can’t help it – he bursts out laughing.

Akoni shakes him roughly, rattling his aching ribs. It doesn’t stop him. “You think anyone in the Vangavaye-ve cares about whatever titles they’ll give you?” Cliopher asks. It’s so absurd. “They’ll call you a velioi and laugh.”

Cliopher’s sure of that; he imagines it every time his Radiancy offers to ennoble Cliopher.

Akoni squeezes his arm in a bruising grip, dragging Cliopher closer. He knows there’s no use fighting now, and refuses to show any of his apprehension. Akoni studies his face; whatever he sees enrages him further. “You think you’re better than me,” Akoni says.

“Well.” Cliopher considers. “Yes.”

Akoni raises a hand.

“No marks,” the watching priest finally interrupts. It is a woman, Cliopher realizes. She looks at Akoni. “You said you could persuade him.”

“I will!”

She isn’t convinced, which makes her a better judge of character than Akoni. And probably a better judge of character than Cliopher, who keeps dating horrible people. “We need to return him before the guards get suspicious. You should reinforce the magic.”

“Right. Kip, will you keep my secrets?”

“Obviously not,” Cliopher huffs.

Akoni shakes him so that Cliopher stumbles. “We can still make things difficult for you,” he warns, as though this has all been pleasant thus far.

The priestess sighs. “Can’t you at least…?” she makes a complicated gesture Cliopher doesn’t follow. The shape of a spell, maybe.

“Yes, fine,” says Akoni. He drags Cliopher closer for a kiss.

He doesn’t let Cliopher escape it this time, crushing him close. It feels like he’s sucking all Cliopher’s breath away; it leaves him dizzy and nauseous. He gags as Akoni pulls back.

Then Akoni touches his efela.

Cliopher shoves him.

It hurts, striking like lightning through his spine. His legs go limp; Cliopher tumbles to the ground. Both Akoni and the priestess leave him there, shaking through the shock.

“It’s protective,” Akoni complains, wringing his hand.

“We should have waited until you were trained more,” the priestess tuts. “You don’t even have a good handle on these bindings.”

“It’s protective,” Akoni repeats. “There’s something stopping me. It’s not my fault.”

The priestess sighs. It’s a little funny to see Akoni bristling more and more over her condescension, except Cliopher has a sneaking suspicion that anger will be expunged on Cliopher himself. “Fine. We don’t have more time today; I’ll tell the guards we need to bring him back for more rituals.”

“But what did you do?” Cliopher demands. She tilts her head.

“You really have no magic whatsoever,” Akoni laughs. “I love it.”

“As far as the guards are concerned, we’re purifying you from a curse,” says the priestess easily. “You don’t need to know anything else, Sayo Mdang."

Cliopher’s shaking when he returns to the guards. Ludvic frowns, but the priestess dismisses this as a ‘necessary side-effect.’ “He’ll need to come back. It might take a few weeks to remove the curse entirely,” she tells the guard, who nods.

So they’re taking the remaining spell on Cliopher more seriously than he realized – but why let him keep working? The list of revised protocols in Cliopher’s head keeps getting longer.

Cliopher automatically shies away when Ludvic tries to take his arm. The guard frowns, but steps back and lets him stalk back toward the Imperial Apartments without support.

They walk in silence awhile. “We didn’t want to warn you in case the spell tried to interfere,” says Ludvic at length. “His Radiancy thinks there might be something about it that prevents you from taking steps to remove the effects.” Which is true. They turn a corner. The doors to the Imperial Apartment come into view. “Are you alright?”

No. “Fine,” says Cliopher against his will. They move through the outer doors. Cliopher heads toward his borrowed rooms, and the guards stop following him.

Once alone Cliopher sits on his bed. He thinks about the things Akoni did. Thinks about what he might have been forced to do if they’d been together longer, if Akoni hadn’t revealed himself in such an excessive and unmistakable act of violence. He thinks about the things Akoni could yet do, with Cliopher unable to warn anyone or ask for help. And he worries about his lord.

Cliopher should – he should do something. Dance and pray, to see if that helps at all. Write a letter to the Ela, for all the little he can explain. Maybe start drafting some protocols. If he can’t do anything to help with his current situation…

First, though, he just sits on his bed and cries.

Chapter Text

Kiri, of course, does not appear the next day.

His Radiancy frowns when Cliopher reports as much. He turns to Commander Ludvic. “You have checked her quarters?”

“And with her family,” he agrees. “She has not been seen. There is no sign of a struggle at her home.”

“That means little.” His Radiancy starts to pace. “Make sure to check with the medical wing, and the local hospital.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You believe she could have been targeted?” he asks Cliopher.

“It is possible,” says Cliopher, instead of saying yes, yes, absolutely, like he wants. He swallows. “But I am unsure who would have the motive,” he grinds out.

“Too many people to count,” his Radiancy murmurs. “Though if anyone I’d expect you… hmm.” He shakes his head. “Report to me at once, Commander, if you have any news.” And that is that.

So Cliopher must return to his normal work, and act calm, like he doesn’t know that Kiri…

Well. He doesn’t know where Kiri is. He feels so useless.

Cliopher isn’t accustomed to that. He can’t even write down his thoughts, or try to sketch a plan; the curse twists his fingers and tongue. It’s incredibly frustrating.

Cliopher isn’t the only one distracted. His lord paces back and forth along his usual path in the study, strides long, and yet his voice becomes more terse and distant as the hours pass. Is he also preoccupied with Kiri? But such things are probably beneath the notice of the Sun-on-Earth.

At noon his lord announces that Cliopher should take a long lunch; he disappears into his private study. Cliopher packs up more slowly as the guards switch shifts.

Rhodin makes a beeline for Cliopher as soon as Varro slips into his place; Cliopher tenses. But Rhodin just offers, “I’ve found a new restaurant.”

That sounds better than stewing alone, so Cliopher follows him.

They take a short walk to the city for lunch, a rare luxury; the Palace of Stars is so colossal that there often isn’t time for such things. Just moving from one end to the other can take a full hour. But the spot Rhodin’s found is fairly close to the gates, and must be new, because Cliopher certainly doesn’t recognize it.

"I don't know how you have the time to find so many spots," Cliopher says. They step inside and order.

"Multi-tasking," is the cheerful reply. "Sometimes I interview people at restaurants, or take out the new guards to get to know them..."

"Hmm."

"You should get out more, Cliopher."

"In my copious free time?" Cliopher asks as they take their seats. 

"You work too much. There should always be enough time to live your life. And enjoy good wine; do you want some wine?"

"It's barely noon."

"I shall interpret that to mean 'yes, Rhodin, of course, I love drinking on the job.'" Rhodin does indeed halt a server to request wine; Cliopher shakes his head. "A good place to remember. They have private booths and discounts for dates."

This is added in a teasing, almost suggestive tone, which Cliopher doesn't appreciate under the circumstances. “You think I want to date anyone else right now?” Cliopher asks. It comes out more bitter than he intends.

“If you want I could help set you up with someone,” Rhodin offers. The place is small but excellent, like most of Rhodin’s discoveries, and Cliopher receives a platter of some sort of savory meat-turnover that he vaguely recognizes as Voonran in origin. The red wine, he begrudges, is a good pairing. “You usually prefer women, I think?”

“I don’t have a preference. And I’m not really in the mood for dating.”

Rhodin winces. “Right, sure. Not now. But – eventually.”

“I can’t remember the last time I actually tried to date someone,” says Cliopher gloomily. Excluding the obvious. “And the last serious time before this was Adelia.”

Rhodin frowns. “Conju mentioned that name, once, but I think it was before I joined up… wait, that long? What happened?”

“She was a spy trying to kill his Radiancy. I nearly got executed over the whole thing.”

“Did you really? Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”

“She was executed.”

“Oh, I believe that. I just mean you probably weren’t as close as you think.” Rhodin does not elaborate. “But I can see why that would be, ah, demoralizing. We can run background checks if you’re interested in anyone.”

“Like you checked Akoni?”

Rhodin deflates. Cliopher pushes back a pang of guilt.

Because he’s not wrong. Rhodin ran a check. He didn’t find anything – including whatever collaboration is happening with the Ouranatha. Why should Cliopher trust his judgment?

He takes a deep breath. Rhodin means well. And he’s clearly trying to be supportive.

“Also,” says Rhodin, awkwardly, “We need to meet with Ludvic before you return to his Radiancy...”

Nevermind. Rhodin might be collaborating with the Ouranatha; that or he’s incompetent. Cliopher’s sure they can find the Imperial Spymaster a nice retirement somewhere when this is over.

“I really should return to his Radiancy,” he says. He turns to go.

But Rhodin stands in the doorway, firm albeit apologetic. Ludvic sighs. “You only feel reluctant because of the enchantment,” he says. And to think, Cliopher once considered both these men perceptive! “You’d agree with this otherwise, Cliopher.”

No, actually, he would not. “Exactly how many more ‘purifications’ am I meant to do?”

“That’s up to the Ouranatha.”

So – as many as they need to bind him further, or kill him, or accomplish… whatever they’ve been trying to do.

“His Radiancy - “

“His Radiancy knows.”

Right. Of course he does. He told Cliopher to take a ‘long lunch.’

Ludvic shifts on his feet when Cliopher hesitates.

Ludvic served his Radiancy well before Cliopher was appointed as his secretary. He’s always been a reassuring constant – partially through personality, and partially through sheer physical presence. With Ludvic behind him, Cliopher feels safe. It’s reassuring to know that one of the best soldiers on Zunidh is able and willing to act in his defense.

Faced with the prospect of that strength used against him…

Cliopher takes a slow breath; there’s no use arguing. “Alright,” he says, soft. And he accompanies Ludvic to the Ouranatha.

Ludvic and Rhodin wait outside.

The priestess leads him into the same room as before, where Akoni bursts from a side-door immediately.

“Get him in the circle,” says the priestess, already drifting toward the table. She picks up a vial and a slender knife. “We need to reinforce the bindings quickly. They’re getting weaker.”

Akoni starts toward him. Cliopher contemplates his choices. He looks between his captors and the ritual-circle on the floor. Looks at the incense, the instruments.

Cliopher can’t do anything to reveal Akoni’s secret; he can’t hurt Akoni. But…

He lunges for the priestess.

She yelps with shock as he shoves her. She flings a hand in the air, uselessly; except it isn’t useless. An invisible force flings Cliopher against the floor. He groans as his back hits the stone, pain arcing through his shoulders and hip.

The priestess curses under her breath, rubbing her chest. She braces herself against the table a moment, then starts toward him. It doesn’t matter how much Cliopher struggles; he can’t get up. “Weren’t you ever taught not to hit women?” she snaps.

Vinyë is both older and taller than Kip. “No,” he says, baffled. She kicks him.

“Kip,” Akoni starts. When the priestess steps back the strange pressure holding Cliopher down vanishes. He staggers to his feet. “Just calm down. We’re not - “

Cliopher knows he can’t flee through the door, so -

He stumbles toward the table holding the ritual-elements; the priestess leaps away on reflex. Cliopher flings a glass bowl behind him, snaps a candle in half, and promptly throws some strange and pungent plant he doesn’t recognize into his mouth.

It’s foul and bitter. He chews hastily as the glass bowl shatters behind him. He picks up a silver metal dish and flings it toward the priestess.

“Kip, stop!”

He eats another plant and crushes a third sprig of something that might be hemlock.

Just as Akoni reaches him, he grabs onto the tablecloth. When Akoni yanks him it gets dragged away too, and all the ritual components, the little athames and candle-sticks, the tiny trays, the incense-burners – everything crashes to the floor in a riot of noise. An unpleasant stench rises from half a dozen broken vials.

No one outside can hear this, of course.

Akoni hits Cliopher across the face once, twice, and then drags him up by the front of his robes. “Why are you like this?! Do you know how expensive some of those ingredients are? Do you know how long it will take to set this up again?”

“Too long for the guards to wait?” Cliopher suggests, choking over the bitter herbs stuck to his teeth. The heavy fried bread and wine from his earlier meal makes an unpleasant mix; his chest jolts. A sickly tinge of ginger and cinnamon fills Cliopher’s nostrils right before he gags a thing splatter of vomit onto Akoni’s chest.

Akoni flinches back with a yelp, releasing him. Cliopher gags again, then deliberately spits in Akoni’s direction.

It’s quick and without thought; Akoni’s face twists. His hand lashes out, and Cliopher stumbles. His head spins. Cliopher staggers, but manages to keep his footing.

“Stop that – no marks, you idiot,” the priestess snaps. Her hand raises; she must do something, because Akoni jerks away with a startled expression. “Disgusting... Let us finish this quickly; we’ll need to clean him. And all of this.”

“We can’t do the ritual now.”

“We recruited you for your talent controlling others,” she says. Is that a special ability of Akoni’s, then? Cliopher knows some people have extremely specific magical gifts. “You must be able to do something. The magic’s getting weaker.”

Cliopher’s heart soars. Akoni scowls. He twists his hand; Cliopher finds he can’t move. “Fine, fine… okay.” Akoni shifts on his feet, brow furrowed. Repeats, “Okay. I could cast another small enchantment to make him more passive, I suppose. That might help.”

“Fine. Just do something.”

Akoni nods. And just like before he strides up to Cliopher and kisses him.

Why, why, why? Cliopher’s heard of sex-magic. He knows that sex can power spells, just as motions and words and herbs can influence magic. But this can’t be necessary. He’s pretty sure Akoni’s just disgusting.

Cliopher still can’t move, so he’s forced to stay still as Akoni licks around his mouth, breath warm and heavy. Cliopher swallows, breathing hard through his nose; he hopes he tastes like vomit.

The priestess mirrors his thoughts. “Really, after all that? Are you sure this is helping, or are you just upset you can’t fuck him?”

Akoni pull back, rubbing at Cliopher’s arm. “You can see the magic,” he snaps. “It helps.”

“Barely.”

“Then add some energy.” And Akoni starts kissing up Cliopher’s neck.

Cliopher’s starting to think he doesn’t like magic, actually.

The priestess grumbles, but waves her hands. Cliopher can only presume this accomplishes something. Meanwhile Akoni rubs his palms down Cliopher’s side, over his thighs, palming the front of his groin.

“If you try to fuck him in front of me I’m letting the guards in,” says the priestess, just as Cliopher’s getting really worried.

“You’re useless,” Akoni snaps, pulling back. Cliopher takes a deep breath, heart rattling. “Maybe you should secure the ingredients properly next time.”

“You were the one who said he was controlled.”

“Whatever. The spells a bit tighter, see?” Akoni trails a hand through the air near Cliopher, presumably indicating something.

“Iprenna won’t be happy.”

“He’s never happy,” Akoni snaps. He looks at Cliopher. “Look, you need to calm down. This will be over soon. We should have all the full ritual components assembled by the new moon.”

That’s not far away. “Why the new moon?”

Akoni kisses his cheek; Cliopher winces. “Why do you even try to understand magic?” He rubs Cliopher’s arm. For a moment Cliopher feels hopeful; he can twitch his fingers, and move his neck a little. He strains every muscle, trying to go toward the door, but nothing happens.

Akoni grabs his shoulder. He presses, and Cliopher finds himself sinking to the floor.

“What did I say,” the priestess complains.

“You know it will reinforce the bindings,” Akoni snaps. Cliopher breathes fast and shallowly through his nose. Is this why Akoni was so mad he never wanted sex? Or - “Go take a break or something.”

“Fine,” huffs the priestess, and stomps through one of the side-doors.

Akoni kisses Cliopher again, who feels tears burning in his eyes as his robes are lifted away.

“Quit looking so suspicious,” the priestess tells Cliopher. Who would like very much to cause suspicion, thank you; but to his own annoyance his breathing calms down at once. With a sigh, he priestess sweeps a glance over the mess on the floor. “We wouldn’t have needed to do this if you didn’t ruin the ritual.”

Cliopher doesn’t reply.

She continues, “Come on. And don’t you dare say a word.”

Cliopher can’t, of course. So he just fumes uselessly as they return to the guards.

Who are – unhappy, when they see him.

Ludvic straightens. “What’s that?” he asks sharply. He’s looking at Cliopher’s face.

Can he see the bruise already? Why didn’t they cover it with magic, Cliopher wonders? But of course the Lord Magus would notice that.

Maybe. It's not like he’s noticed anything else.

“The magic shook him harder than expected; he fell and hit his head,” the priestess dismisses.

Ludvic frowns. “You said this was safe.”

“It should be. I cannot account for his sense of balance.”

Ludvic studies Cliopher a moment longer, who says nothing. “Perhaps I should be present during the next ritual,” he says slowly.

“We would have to recalculate everything,” she says. Cliopher has no idea if that’s generally true of such magics. It sounds realistic, though. “We’ll need more time to prepare.”

“We can wait.”

“The Glorious One seemed to think this was time-sensitive.”

“I am sure he will agree Sayo Mdang’s security takes priority. Are you ready, Cliopher?”

Cliopher twitches away when Ludvic tries to lay a hand on his shoulder. He stalks toward the door.

His lungs quiver; he feels like he isn’t breathing right. A fear-response; he hasn’t felt so genuinely afraid for years and years. The nausea hasn’t abetted, either.

Ludvic keeps pace with him as Cliopher hurries down the hall. “Is the ritual difficult?” he asks.

Cliopher, again, says nothing.

Ludvic probably mistakes it for sulkiness. Which isn’t wholly wrong. Cliopher knows his friends aren’t at fault. The Ouranatha are one of the main pillars of government; they are Zunidh’s experts in magical phenomena. It makes perfect sense they’d handle any curses or enchantments that afflict senior government officials. That’s what they’re supposed to do.

He still has part of the workday left, doesn’t he? “I’m calling Aioru to replace me,” he decides, voice cracking.

Rhodin frowns, barely keeping pace. “You’re dismissed for the rest of the day; he’s entered a trance. Didn’t say why.”

Cliopher immediately switches directions; the guards continue to follow him. He’s sick of magic, but that’s good. He wouldn’t be able to focus on work right now.

Ludvic eyes him. “We can tell this is unpleasant for you,” he says, in dramatic understatement. “I’m sorry for that. But you’ll feel better once the spell is removed.”

“His Radiancy could remove it,” snaps Cliopher, trying not to sound as bitter as he feels. He’s already slowing. His legs and chest feel hollow and weak; he wants to curl up right where he is and not move.

“He’s tried,” says Ludvic patiently. “We talked about this. He’s concerned the magic is a trap for him; the Ouranatha are stripping it more carefully. You wouldn’t want him to get injured.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Cliopher has no idea if that’s a real threat, or if the Ouranatha just created a convincing illusion of a threat. “He’s the Lord Magus,” Cliopher murmurs, defeated. Of course he doesn’t actually want the Sun-on-Earth to risk himself, but...

“He’s only a god,” Rhodin adds, a drawl of humor returning to his tone. “He isn’t perfect.”

He’s only a god, Rhodin said.

Cliopher thinks about this once he’s back in his rooms. He turns his gifted efani over and over in his hands.

He isn’t perfect.

Solaara is not by the sea. Whispering to the shell may have loosened his curse; it’s clearly not sufficient to remove it entirely. Of course not. How can a sea-goddess help him here, with this?

The thought seems important. He slips the shell into his pocket to consider later, then turns to his letters.

He’s horribly nauseous. It occurs to Cliopher that he has no idea what those ritual-herbs were; maybe he’s poisoned himself. It would at least be a dramatic enough death to cause people to investigate the Ouranatha; one can only hope.

There are vague ideas turning over in his mind. Cliopher takes a breath and shelves them. He’s still trembling, and he feels ill; he isn’t in any condition to act right now. So after consideration he decides to read his latest letters from home.

...got all our hopes up, Eidora laments in her letter, much more brief than usual. You’re too old to be this picky, Kip. How did you drive this one away?

Cliopher sets it down. Okay, maybe a less difficult relative.

Vinyë’s letter is fine, except that toward the end she tentatively suggests setting him up with a politician friend. Cousin Faila talks about one of her new theatre shows awhile before suggesting a few romance novels he might like, assuming he enjoys wallowing after break-ups like she does. And Cousin Lazizo ends a long, rambling story about his gardens with some not-so-subtle hints about how flowers are good for apologies, if he’s made any mistakes.

He even receives a brief letter from little Cousin Dora, which no one else must have checked, because she demands to know if he’s getting married soon and whether she can come to Solaara and see.

Cliopher’s just about ready to dump all the letters and go to bed when he sees the letter from the Ela.

He wrote to their lorekeeper, the zama, as soon as he realized he was enchanted. Of course Cliopher couldn’t explain the problem; he just asked roundabout questions about magic, discussing the differences between Islander traditions and the schools of Astandalan wizardry.

Despite this, the zama’s reply mentions Akoni.

After a brief and admittedly interesting explanation of the ways the Ela’s customs had to adapt after the Pax, the zama says, We have been informed of your relationship with one of our mages. I do not intend to cast disparagement on any of my kin; but I would be remiss not to warn you that he is particularly skilled in magics of control and manipulation, and left after serious ethical conflicts with other members of the family. You may find it wise to visit for ritual cleansing when you next visit these islands. As a precautionary measure only; even well-meaning mages can sometimes cast magics without deliberate thought.

Cliopher sighs, briefly resting his head in his hands. The zama is hedging, but clearly Akoni did something bad enough that he was nearly-exiled – so much for ‘wanting to see the world!’ – and it was bad enough the zama’s worried Cliopher might be hurt.

That would have been nice to know before it happened.

Frustration has him leaping to his feet. Cliopher stalks outside, where he nearly runs into today’s guard, Oginu.

To his surprise, Oginu frowns and steps into his path. “Are you alright, Sayo Mdang? That bruise looks much worse.”

Cliopher doesn’t care to explain himself to one of the guards who may end up dragging him to the Ouranatha. He just keeps walking, and Oginu falls in behind him.

It’s late in the Palace, the lights dimmed slightly where he strides through the halls. The palace garden paths glow constantly with softer mage-lights; walking through them helps a little, but does nothing to solve Cliopher’s dilemma. And Oginu’s steady steps behind him just make Cliopher more anxious.

He halts, finally, in front of the tui-tree he planted so many years ago.

There’s a few birds nestled in the branches, half-asleep. Cliopher thinks of the Ela, and their cryptic mention of ritual cleansings.

He needs help he cannot ask for, knows things he cannot share. Cliopher hopes Kiri is safe. But there is no way he can help her here. There is no way to help himself.

He can’t do this again, Cliopher realizes. He can’t just… wait around for the guards to keep dragging him back to Akoni, for the Ouranatha to finish their preparations. He glances back at Oginu.

Okay. Alright. The spell only prevents him from doing things to warn people about what’s happening.

But the magic’s getting weaker. So Cliopher just needs to endure long enough for it to wear away - without giving the priests a chance to reinforce it.

He drops his hand into his pocket, touching the little efani shell he carries. The goddess cannot help him here. Maybe she could, if he were able to see the waters himself. And at least he would be away.

Cliopher looks at the birds; they stare back at him. One gives a curious, sleepy chirp. Cliopher remembers the way Akoni insulted the gods. He even laughed at Iki. “Perhaps Vou’a could help me instead?” he asks the bird, wry.

It clacks its beak, yawns, and apparently grows tired of his staring, because it gets up to fly away.

“Did you say something, Sayo Mdang?” Oginu calls.

“No.” Cliopher sighs, turning from the tree. But he’s made his decision.

It seems like it’s time to leave Solaara.

Chapter Text

One more try, Cliopher tells himself.

He doesn’t know when the guards will bring him for another purification. He can’t risk that. He needs to be gone early, but…

But he wants to try telling someone.

So he wakes several hours early the next morning. It’s still dark outside. He tucks some spare clothes and his obsidian knife into his writing-kit, grateful for the magic that expands it. He slips Ani’s shell into his pocket.

Cliopher lingers for a bit over the little piece of paper he’s managed to write. Check the Ouranatha, it says. He tries to slip this into his pocket, too, not that it will help. But his hand doesn’t cooperate. Sighing, he leaves it on the bed.

Varro immediately falls into place behind Cliopher as he leaves the apartments. He doesn’t ask Cliopher where he’s going so early, which is good, since Cliopher doesn’t intend to explain.

The Ouranatha want me dead, so I’m leaving, he tries to say. “Going on a walk,” is what comes out.

“Yes, Sir,” says Varro, not blinking.

Cliopher knows that Ludvic’s taking an early-morning shift today at the gates with some new hires. The commander of the guard doesn’t usually put himself on gate-duty; it’s a useful way for recent additions to starting recognizing Palace visitors. But all the senior guards take rotations to accompany them. He heads down the hall with a grim step – and is startled to be waylaid immediately by Conju, before he even reached the outer antechambers.

Cliopher knows it isn’t unusual to find Conju puttering around the Imperial Apartments, even this early. He often stays nearby if the guards report his Radiancy’s had nightmares, and Conju is a restless sort anyway. But Conju doesn’t seem surprised to see him. “Cliopher. Would you like some company?”

What an odd offer, at this hour! “No, thank you. I’m just going for a walk.”

“I’ll join you.”

“I’d prefer to be alone,” Cliopher snaps.

Conju falters, a flicker of hurt twitching over his face before it smooths. “Of course,” he says, a little stiff. His gaze flickers between Cliopher and Varro, then softens. “Don’t be too long; you really should rest.”

Cliopher hesitates. “Is there a reason you’re awake?”

“Just finishing some things,” says Conju vaguely. Cliopher really doesn’t have time to waste, so he decides not to pry, and continue out of the apartments.

A sleepy page leaps up when they pass the antechamber. Cliopher’s still fighting an internal battle with himself. “Sir! I didn’t realize you were up.” She hands him a note stamped with the symbols of the Ouranatha, and his blood chills.

But when he opens it – reminding himself, with a quick glance at Varro, that the guard would surely notice any malicious spells on the missive – it’s not from one of the high-priests summoning him for a dawn ritual. It’s from Kiri’s parents, asking if he’s heard from her. This note carries much more concern than their last exchange.

Cliopher dismisses the page without reply; with faint disappointment she sits down with the others posted outside the emperor’s tower.

The message leaves him guilty even as it strengthens his resolve. His friends will worry, but – he cannot let himself disappear like Kiri.

Better to disappear on his own volition, instead.

So he leaves the apartments, striding fast and determined through the nearly-empty halls. He finds his feet moving faster, faster. It’s a relief to come up to the gate.

As expected, Ludvic is there with one of the newer recruits – a surprisingly slender young man with a shock of reddish hair, probably from Amboloyo. Varro gives them a cheerful salute as they stop by the gate. “Ludvic,” says Cliopher. There’s a different enchantment on me, and I can’t see the Ouranatha. “This shift must be quiet,” is what comes out of his mouth.

The new guard nods. “I like quiet shifts,” says Ludvic. “It means nothing’s gone wrong.”

He’s going to have some excitement within a few hours. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Where are you going this early?”

Over the mountains, and then I think I’m going to walk into the sea. “Just for a walk. We won’t be long." He squeezes the shell in his pocket, taking comfort from its spiral ridges.

Well; so much for that.

Cliopher cannot, of course, leave directly from the city.

He’s already arranging the frame of a plan as he ascends up the wooded jungle path toward the base of the mountains, Varro plodding behind. Once his Radiancy notices Cliopher’s absence, he’ll assume there’s additional effects from the enchantments on him (not untrue). Cliopher Mdang, as the Hands of the Emperor, is privy to secrets at every level of governance. If he were properly under the control of a mage, it would constitute a planetary emergency. His Radiancy will close down all entrances to the city. Including the sea-train.

Solaara borders the sea on the east, opening it up to the Azilint, Tkine, western Xiputl – not to mention Southern Dair below. His Radiancy will expect Cliopher to choose any of these sensible routes of escape (or, more likely, will expect him to be smuggled out by some abductor).

But he cannot close all the sea trains, all the paths across the world. And Cliopher, though he might not be a warrior, is better at bushcraft than most of the city-bred guards.

The easiest path, if he wants to avoid people, would be to journey south and cross the Grey Mountains at one of the more narrow openings through the mountains, over the shallow peaks. So he’s not going to do that.

Which is purely a logical decision, Cliopher tells himself firmly, even if he is glad to avoid the place where he was once captured.

Cliopher hikes along the mountain-paths near Solaara enough to know them well. He knows, also, the more dangerous routes that most people avoid. And he’s fairly confident he can cross.

As long as he can get that far. This route takes him across the place where he brought Akoni; his shoulders hunch.

He was so stupid.

“Aren’t you working today, Sayo Mdang?” Varro asks.

The guard isn’t winded, but he’s started to look a little dubious, half-jogging in places to keep up with Cliopher’s unrelenting pace. “It’s faster getting down,” Cliopher assures him, not stopping.

Varro tips his head back toward the sky, frowning. “It’s nearly dawn.”

Cliopher ignores him, walking faster. Yes, this is the spot. He grits his teeth and veers off the main path.

“We should – Sayo Mdang?” Varro ducks around the brush to follow him, as expected.

Cliopher found this spot years ago. At the time it startled him so badly that he simply fell down and cried awhile, and then huddled up by a tree as though he were a child and not an imperial statesman, staring over the gorge.

Cliopher hops down a hill, grits his teeth past the nausea in his stomach, and determinedly starts across the rope bridge.

It’s unpleasantly familiar to see the glint of a spear from the corner of his eye. “Sayo Mdang,” Varro snaps, now definitely suspecting something. “What is this place? You’ll be needed at the Palace soon.”

The concern isn’t unmerited, even if Varro might suspect Cliopher’s just having some strange breakdown, and isn’t ensorcelled or coerced. In the first years after the Fall many guards lost their lives exploring and expanding the peripheries of the city. The jungles were wild then; these days there are signposts and paths through the wilderness, but much has been left untouched.

This bridge is fashioned like the ones Cliopher remembers from his frantic chase across the mountains. Perhaps the tribes that built it were cousins to the Southern fellows who stumbled across him while hunting jaguars; it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that there are huge gaps in the planking, and the sides are wide open with only two ropes for hand-holds. It wobbles precariously as he walks. Varro makes a sound of protest. “Sir,” he calls. Cliopher inhales slowly, keeping his eyes on the wooden slats and refusing to consider the perilous drop. It’s not so different from climbing around on a ship, he tries to tell himself.

Cliopher halts partway across, taking a breath that’s only partly for show. He really does hate this.

At this pause Varro hurries after him, one hand on the thin guiding-rope. The whole bridge ripples like a wave. “Sir - “

Cliopher sways on his feet, stumbling. He waves his hand limply to clutch at the side of the bridge, leaning his weight against it. The whole construct swings.

“Sayo Mdang!” Varro hurries to support him. Cliopher wraps an arm around his shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe.

This isn’t hard; he’s genuinely feeling dizzy. But he staggers forward, not back, and Varro doesn’t argue – just half-drags him the rest of the way, demanding to know if he’s sick.

“We should have brought water,” Varro says as they finally, blessedly, get back onto stable ground. It’s a perfect opening. “I didn’t realize you were walking so far – here, sit down - “

“There’s a stream this way,” Cliopher offers, gesturing. Varro hesitates. “It’s not far.”

Varro agrees with visible reluctance. So they walk; Cliopher feigns another stagger not far along. “Sayo Mdang! Really, please rest. There might be an easier way back, I don’t want you go over the bridge again - “

“It’s just over here,” says Cliopher, determinedly ignoring Varro’s politely-insistent attempts to press him onto the ground.

“Sir,” Varro protests. He’s looking at Cliopher, not ahead of them. “His Radiancy will be terribly upset if you’re hurt. Just let me - “

Cliopher stumbles again. Varro reaches out.

That’s when Cliopher kicks Varro’s feet from under him, and shoves. The guard doesn't expect this from a sick man, and so even his well-honed instincts don't react in time.

Then Varro yelps as the strangler-plant grabs him.

Though they’re colloquially called stranglers, no one except children ever get hurt in them. They did kill a number of people after the Fall, though. The first victims didn’t know how to release themselves – which is now commonly taught in Solaara – so they’d eventually starved to death.

Cliopher can barely see Varro past the mess of reddish-yellow vines. The plant was hidden well before their arrival, but it's making no effort for subterfuge now. He leans back from an inquisitive tendril.

Then Varro calls, a little muffled, “Sayo Mdang!”

Cliopher nearly sags with relief. “Are you hurt, Varro!”

“No – I’m fine.” He sounds clearer this time, writhing around and pushing against the plant. “Are you alright? Step back, please, I don’t want it grabbing you. Can you hand me my spear?”

“I’ll go for help,” says Cliopher, already in a much better mood.

“No! I don’t want you collapsing on the way back, Sir.” Ah; because he’s meant to be ill. Cliopher feels a flicker of guilt over Varro’s real alarm. “Just stay there, we’ve been trained on these. It might take awhile to get out, though - “

“Oh, I'll wait,” lies Cliopher, upon which he turns on heel and runs.

Varro will be fine.

Cliopher keeps telling himself this as he runs. He couldn’t think of a better way. He’ll probably untangle himself within an hour or two – if not, the monitor at the Palace should send someone. If that fails, the guards have ways of locating each other; someone will send a search-team as soon as he fails to hand over his shift.

It was necessary. And Cliopher’s ultimately trying to protect his Radiancy from  the Ouranatha, which Varro would agree outweighs his own safety, but -

But the fact is that Cliopher hurt a guard, a man dedicated to protecting him, for his own self-interest. It sits heavy in his chest as he runs, then finally drops into a brisk walk, panting.

(The smart thing to do - what he planned to do - would be to double back and cut the rope-bridge to slow any pursuers. But that would make it harder for people to reach Varro, and in the end Cliopher can’t justify it.)

The sun is higher now. His shift will start soon; people will realize he hasn’t returned from his walk. They’ll be searching.

It really does remind him of those years after the Fall.

If he were hiking for fun, it wouldn’t bother Cliopher to be dumped into the middle of a jungle without supplies. He knows how to find food and water, build shelter, weave clothes for himself from the plants. But there’s no time to amble about collecting supplies or braiding a carry-bag from vines when the Imperial guards will soon follow him.

So for now he can only hurry and hope that no pouring rain slams down, that he does not break a leg without food or water at hand, that nothing attacks him while Cliopher has no defense except the little obsidian-knife in his shoe.

The guard will expect Akoni’s enchanted him again. Anyone who pursues Cliopher will assume he’s fleeing south, perhaps as a captive; that would be the sane direction to take.

So instead he needs to get to Western Dair. Csiven would be ideal; the sea-train runs there, and he could hop on and go straight home. Or if the train authorities are on watch he can find a ship to Jilkano. That’s one way this isn’t like the grim era after the Fall; the seas are safe, and the ships run on schedules. And it’s a universal truth that the docks always need more sailors. If Cliopher thickens his accent a bit and makes small-talk with the sailors he’ll get hired within an hour. Any decent captain knows to grab up Wide Sea Islanders if they’re willing to sail.

But first he will walk into the sea, and try to appeal to Ani; Cliopher does not have much reason to think she’ll listen, but the shell in his hand suggests she might. Or maybe the enchantment will wear away given a little more time; if not, he can try to get home and seek out the Ela. Someone will realize. Someone will help him, even if the Lord Magus could not.

Cliopher’s nearly assured himself of this plan when he sees the lights.

The trees and brush surround him, a dense covering of greenery under the gloomy dawn. But even through this Cliopher sees the lights rising from Solaara, like a flock of birds. Can see them drifting deliberately toward the mountains, shining through gaps in the canopy. Searching. They glow like stars even in the orange dawn.

Cliopher doesn’t have a drop of magic in his bones, but he knows the look of his lord’s Workings. Ice closes over his throat. No – he cannot go back, not yet. He’ll be brought straight to the Ouranatha. It’s too soon.

Again, Cliopher runs.

Even his lord cannot search the entire mountain-range, he tells himself. Not even the Lord Magus can look everywhere. But the world gets brighter and brighter. His teeth start to hurt, with a strange buzz. And then the wind picks up.

This – this does not seem like his Radiancy’s magic.

It reminds him horribly of the typhoons, sitting huddled on his little island camps beside his broken vaha while the palm-trees bent and thwapped their leaves under the unrelenting wind. Branches rattle and shake and bend; one strikes Cliopher across the cheek as he runs, and soon he collects little knicks and scratches all over his face, his neck. He keeps going. His legs ache.

The lights shine overhead. Cliopher halts, spinning on heel, and looks up.

It’s blindingly bright. Cliopher clutches his little seashell. “You can’t take me,” he tells the howling wind. It plucks at his sleeves. Cliopher wishes he could see magic; instead there’s only the trees, flapping wildly, and the distant scream of birds. A colorful explosion of parrots rush out from a cluster of trees. Wings clips his face. The wind pushes so hard he can barely breathe against it.

Maybe this magic, too, needs consent. So he insists, “You can’t have me.”

Some lurking instinct alerts him to danger. Cliopher cranes his neck, but he doesn’t see whatever smacks into him. It lifts him off his feet, and he goes spiraling and falling upward, straight through the forest canopy in the direction of the Palace.

When he was a boy Cliopher dreamed of sailing through Sky Ocean.

He’s always loved magic, until recently; he loved faerie-tales and legends and fables, rumors and myths. The kind of grand stories that involve clever riddles and shining knights, the sort who rescue their lovers from towers.

Cliopher has learned that magic is not always a grand, wonderful thing; it can be gritty and filthy. And right now it’s yanking him through the air, blurring past the lights of the city in a rattling whirlwind. He flings up his hands over his face when the stone of the Palace rushes toward him; then he’s past it, slipping and squeezing through the cracks in a horrible twisting pulse, and slams flat on his back into a ritual-circle on cold marble.

He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping. He wants to cry. Birds scream, caught up in the magic with him, and flutter anxiously around the room with squawks of protest. His eyes flutter closed, open, closed. He feels almost drunk. And for a long while he drifts like that.

“Kip?” A hand strokes through his hair, gentle. “Kip, hey, wake up. You aren’t hurt.”

“Get away from him!”

But the hand keeps stroking, tugging, fluttering down to cup his cheek. “Wake up already. We don’t have long.”

Cliopher stirs slowly, heart beating like a wild creature against his ribcage. It’s uncomfortably familiar to rouse with ropes scraping his wrists. For a moment he smells the wild jungles, the laughing tribesmen who dragged him along the dirt before they released him for a hunt. A hand soothes over his shoulder, and Cliopher flinches away even before he registers Akoni standing in front of him.

Akoni’s smile drops. He’s wearing the white robes of an initiate. “Don’t be worried. This won’t take long.”

Still dazed, Cliopher gapes. He doesn’t know of any magic strong enough to yank a person across the world, through any physical barrier – how many people did it take? What is worth all this?

Cliopher turns his head.

Cliopher himself is bound to a pillar – the ornamental, sacrificial kind liberally strewn around the Tower, a testament to the old days when some of the more perverse emperors had people executed for various Workings. Saya Kalikiri is tied to another pillar, eyes wide. The circular stone room is wide enough it must be reserved for major rituals. There’s a table with various odd materials at the far end, etchings on the floor - and a huddled group of Ouranatha near the huge open window. Dozens of Ouranatha. How many people are involved in this?

Two of them wear the sun-and-moon raiment of the high priests. Rage stirs in Cliopher’s chest.

“This is treason,” he raises his voice to say. A few shift their heads aside. Belatedly he turns back to a wide-eyed Kiri. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, though so hesitantly he doesn’t believe her. She’s pale and wan, but Cliopher can’t see any visible wounds. “They said they would hurt my parents. But I didn’t help them, Sir,” she whispers.

“I know, Kiri.” That’s his last concern right now.

The priest with a gold mask approaches. “We commit no treason; it is our duty to uphold the magic of the Empire. But our lord forgets his duties, and his own nature works against his function.”

“Is he not a god?” Cliopher asks, voice taut. Privately, he thinks his Radiancy is just a man, albeit a great one; but it is the Ouranatha who run the Imperial cult, who are meant to worship the Sun-on-Earth. “Do you claim to know better than the Divine?”

“He is tainted by wild magic; once he is purified, once he is brought properly into the magics of the Empire...”

“The Empire is dead,” Cliopher snaps, even as fear makes his heart race. This is worse than he thought if the high priest is proclaiming such a bold divide. “If you try to take his magic you could ruin Zunidh, too.”

“They just need your magic, Kip – the magic on you,” Akoni clarifies. Cliopher tries not to look, but a shudder runs through him when Akoni wraps an arm around his stiff, aching shoulders. Cliopher’s own hands are tied behind his back, so all he can do is lean away. He finds he still has the efani clenched under his fist. “There’s so much of it you’re practically blinding to any mage who looks. They just need to run some tests on the magic, and then you can go.”

Cliopher laughs, shocked. “You must be joking? They’re going to kill us both.” They wouldn’t risk Akoni talking about this.

“They won’t,” says Akoni. The high priests conspicuously say nothing. One of the lesser mages across the room murmurs to another, moving to the table. “I know this is a lot. But once that foreign magic gone we can be together and put all this behind us, yeah?”

Cliopher ignores him. Akoni is evidently more useless than he ever realized. Cliopher’s frankly embarrassed to be kidnapped with his help. To Iprenna, he says, “He already knows Kiri’s missing; my guard will be alerting them to my own absence.” A thought occurs to him. “He’ll have felt that. Summoning someone like this – it can’t be minor magic. How long do you think it will take for him to find you?”

“It will be too late,” says Iprenna simply. “We will kill Saya Kalikiri if you do not comply.”

...Oh, that’s interesting.

They need his compliance? Even though he’s bound? Cliopher thinks back to the question Akoni asked: will you keep my secrets?

Yes, yes, yes, Cliopher said. And he’s whispered his refusals to Ani, every night, and the spell weakened. It must be very weak by now, if it hasn’t faltered entirely.

“You will stand in the circle,” Iprenna says, gesturing. “And swear to give over the magic that is upon you.”

Cliopher eyes the magic circle, completely incomprehensible even after his middling attempts to learn about magic. “I am afraid I will not,” he says in his most polite tones.

Iprenna hesitates. He trades looks with Bavezh. “You will not?”

“Correct.”

“We will torture Saya Kalikiri.”

“And then myself, I don’t doubt; my answer remains the same.” These pillars suggest they already have plans for her death. Sacrificial plans, if he's reading them right. Apparently his rudimentary education in magic has progressed just enough to discern when he's going to be murdered; how useful. “My apologies, Kiri.”

“Not at all, Sir,” she says, straightening with a glare for the Ouranatha. “I am pleased to give my life for the Glorious One.”

Cliopher should not be surprised, he suppose, that the Ouranatha can't seem to comprehend this choice. Kiri is devout within the cult they claim to lead. His own loyalty is more personal, and also not; giving the Ouranatha even a scrap of power over his lord is unthinkable. It would be ruinous for Zunidh.

If Cliopher must die to prevent that, then so be it.

“Don’t be stupid,” says Akoni. Cliopher almost forgot about him. Akoni rattles his arm, like he can tell. “Once his magic is gone, we can be happy together.”

Cliopher can’t help but laugh. “You’re delusional, Sayo Ela. I would sooner take up the courtly-tradition of ritual suicide than stay with you. But that doesn’t matter.” He twists his head to look at Bavezh. “Once my lord learns of this, you will lose all the power you have. How do you think this - “

A blow strikes his jaw. Kiri screams loud and shrill over the sudden ringing in his ears.

“Forget about them,” Akoni snarls. “I’m talking to you!”

“Excuse me; I don’t care,” Cliopher snaps. “I’m concerned with the future of this government, not your ego.”

Akoni hits him again, and this time Cliopher’s head smacks hard against the stone pillar. For a moment he can’t see. Not so different from the Grey Mountains after all, he thinks.

“We need him alive,” Bavezh comments, not moving to intervene. In contradiction to the words, he pulls a knife from his robes. “We do not, however, need Saya Kalikiri. You will not reconsider?”

Cliopher debates extending the conversation. Debates pretending fear, feigning acquiescence. He could get to the middle of the circle and then refuse again; draw things out another minute, maybe two.

But Kiri is proud and tall next to him, no fear on her face, and he can’t. Cliopher grips the efani tighter. The edges hurt. “I will not.”

Bavezh nods. He turns to Kiri, raising the knife.

Akoni grabs Cliopher’s shoulder, and everything gets very odd for a moment.

It reminds him strangely of that horrible moment at Woodlark, when his Radiancy consumed everything in magical fire. The huge vastness of it blotted out the sky, and the world seemed to fall mute – yet heavy, heavy with things Cliopher couldn’t hear.

He senses that same heaviness, now, as he watches every panicked parrot dragged along with him turn on the priests at once.

Bavezh shouts as a huge ruddy-red bird dives for his face, wings flapping in wild rage. Two much smaller parakeets begin harassing the table set up across the room, flinging spell-ingredients this way and that; others dart between the alarmed rows of lesser priests circled around the room.

Shouts fill the air, and spells. Akoni releases Cliopher to start swatting at a brilliantly green bird that claws at his collar.

Kiri shouts something that gets lost in the wind. Cliopher twists and turns in his bindings, wrenching his hands painfully. It doesn’t accomplish much.

He should use this distraction – but he’s helpless, again, again. Cliopher yanks so hard he feels a sharp, lancing pain go through his knuckles. One hand slides out; he reaches back and starts using the efani’s edge to try slicing through the remaining rope.

“No,” Akoni snaps. He slaps away the bird; it falls away with a cry. Then he reaches out to Cliopher, whose hand slips. The shell accidentally slices a thin line across the side of his palm.

The wind rises in a howl, and for a long moment Cliopher blinks stars from his eyes. Overhead birds wheel, beaks opening. He has the queerest sense of time stretching, stretching -

And then it snaps back.

Bavezh fly through the air. Akoni’s wrenched away with a mute cry Cliopher somehow feels. The whole tower rattles with a brilliant flash of light.

When Cliopher can see again, Akoni lies still and unbreathing across the room. The Ouranatha, too, rest crumpled against the walls.

He lifts his head to see his lord at the entrance of the ritual chamber. His golden eyes swirl with magic. And Cliopher can understand why people think he's a god, framed like some luminous hero amidst the dust and chaos.

Cliopher waits until the guards come to untie them. He leans heavily on the nearest one – oh, it's Varro. Poor Varro.

“Sorry about that,” he manages. Varro holds him upright as Cliopher sways, face distraught and pale. “It was quite mean of me. To leave you.”

“Cliopher,” says his lord, tense. “Are you hurt?”

Is he? “Yes,” Cliopher decides. His thumb throbs, and the efani’s cut into his palm. He looks down with a blink and registers little drops of blood all over his front. From the branches in the forest, no doubt. “Glorious One... I presume you found my note?”

“Yes, my dear secretary; although I must reprove you, that you have found a most inconvenient time to be succinct.”

“The circumstances were irregular, my lord.”

“Quite. Commander Omo, please see to the arrest of the Ouranatha.” His Radiancy looks over the crumpled forms on the ground. “All of them, until we have thoroughly audited the ranks.”

Ludvic’s face shows a grim satisfaction. “At once, my lord.”

Cliopher supposes that’s one way to institute governmental reform.

Grimly his Radiancy demands, “To whom did they dedicate the ritual? What god was involved here?”

“What?”

“Which god hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” says Cliopher, baffled. He can’t imagine the priests wanting to give up power to any god. “Does it matter?”

His Radiancy’s face tightens. “Don’t disturb the ritual arrangements,” he tells the guards. “Get them both to a doctor.”

Cliopher supposes his own questions can wait; he trails out after Kiri, still clutching the little efani between blood-stained hands. He hopes it doesn’t stain.

Chapter Text

His Radiancy appears in the medical wing flanked by guards before Domina Audry’s even finished cleaning Cliopher’s injuries. “The priests who were present tonight have been arrested,” his lord says, eyes roving over Cliopher. Kiri’s in another section of the wing; she wasn’t hurt despite her longer captivity, thank the gods. “Just a few questions, Cliopher, and we will allow you to rest. The enchantments seem to be broken; can you speak freely?”

“I believe so,” says Cliopher. Though how he’s meant to tell, he doesn’t know.

“Is there any imminent threat that remains? Anyone else involved in this plot?”

Cliopher mulls that over. “The only people I can confirm were involved were the high priests, the priestess present when I was ‘cleansed,’ and Akoni. I’m unsure how much the other Ouranatha knew.”

“We will investigate that. Is there any other information we need immediately?”

After so many weeks of enforced silence, it chagrins Cliopher to admit, “No.” The stress and fear has been wiped away so easily he feels disconcerted by the loss – like suddenly dropping a heavy weight after a long day’s toil. His hunger and fatigue, his throbbing headache, the bruised gut, the stinging cuts on his face – all these things only make the sensation more disorienting. “Nothing important. Well, I suppose Aioru may find it useful to reference Kiri’s audit on the Ouranatha. I wasn’t able to talk about it, but...”

“Why did you leave?” Conju bursts. He quells a little as his Radiancy’s attention turns on the groom, plainly aware of his own impropriety; so it’s a strong testament to his worry that he continues. “Where were you going?”

“I had to leave. The guards were just going to keep dragging me back to get enchanted and raped - “

“They weren’t,” says Conju tightly. “Ludvic was concerned about the bruises you came back with; he’d already scheduled the priests for questioning under truth serum.”

“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” Cliopher looks away from his friend a moment.

He pauses on the sight of his Radiancy, frozen like a marble statue. His eyes shimmer with magic, head swiveled to stare down the equally taut forms of Rhodin and Ludvic; they’re both dipped in rigid bows of apology, heads low. Cliopher hesitates.

Domina Audry steps forward before this strange tableau can process. “If that is all, my lord? Sayo Mdang needs to rest.”

“Of course,” his Radiancy murmurs, finally turning back. “Cliopher. We will post a guard here; let us know at once if you need anything, or recall any details relevant to the investigation. Would you prefer to stay, Conju?”

Conju hesitates, conflicting duties warring visibly on his face. “For awhile, my lord.”

“Very good. We hope you recover swiftly, Sayo Mdang.” Ludvic and Rhodin leave with him. Two other guards remain behind.

Conju doesn’t say much. He sits next to Cliopher and reaches out to clutch his hand while the doctor does her work. One of the guards shuffles by the door.

“You’ll be fine, but that concussion may take a few weeks – and you’ve fractured some ribs again, too,” the doctor sighs. “I know you have a tendency to overwork; if you want to heal properly, you need to rest.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” says Conju, a little darkly. His grip is tight around Cliopher’s hand as she goes.

Conju looks like he’s about to say something else, but the guard shuffles again, and one steps forward.

Oh.

“I’m so sorry, Sayo Mdang,” says Varro miserably. Cliopher blinks up at the guard through a concussed haze. His head aches. “I should never have left you.”

Cliopher mulls that over, and eventually decides the head-wound isn’t the reason for his confusion. “I pushed you into a strangler plant,” he points out.

“And I shouldn’t have fallen for it,” Varro declares.

Well. At least he isn’t upset.

Conju sighs. “Why don’t you try to sleep, dear. I’m sure you’ll tire of talking about this soon enough.”

Cliopher, again, is pulled off work to recover. He therefore receives news in bits and pieces over the next two days – first from Conju, then from Kiri and Aioru once they’re permitted brief visits.

One benefit of Kiri’s kidnapping is that her parents are conclusively innocent of involvement in the whole plot. His Radiancy promptly names them his new high-priests; Cliopher has no idea if they’re even qualified, but they were fairly high-placed before, and based on Kiri’s anecdotes over the years they sound genuinely devout.

His Radiancy doesn’t like when his priests are devout. Cliopher doesn’t like the implied nepotism. But right now, being able to trust them is more important. And Kiri’s bursting with pride, so that’s one good thing to come out of it. Maybe they’ll cooperate better with future audits?

With Akoni’s death it doesn’t take much longer for his Radiancy to unravel the remaining magic around Cliopher. He goes to the Imperial study to make a report as soon as Domina Audry declares him capable. His ribs ache, and the scrapes and bruises are still visible along his upper body, so the talk remains brief. But Cliopher is finally able to explain. He can tell his Radiancy and the guards about the Ouranathas’ meeting with Akoni, the spells of silence, his inability to warn them.

“We regret that we so misunderstood your situation, Sayo Mdang,” says his lord, unusually solemn and formal as he considers Cliopher. “And that you were injured in this conspiracy by the Lord Wizards.”

His Radiancy does not, of course, apologize to anyone; it sounds like he’s trying nevertheless. “I am only glad they were unsuccessful, my lord. But I confess I do not understand the magic they were using, nor what exactly they intended.”

“My own magic is the strongest on Zunidh,” his Radiancy reflects. That’s not surprising. “They sought to control me by reflecting back my own power as a binding; there is a great deal of my magic on you, Cliopher.”

Cliopher considers. “And on Lady Melissa?” he suggests. When his Radiancy pauses, he adds, “they have been watching her closely, my lord, trying to counsel with her in private; and I am certain she did not appreciate it.”

“Elish,” his lord says. The guard steps away from the wall, salutes, and departs them. “Thank you, Cliopher. You are correct; I have put similar protections on her. They probably considered you an… easier target.”

Less likely to be missed, he means.

“The Ouranatha will need considerable restructuring.”

“What a polite understatement. Yes; we will consider the matter. While I cannot be pleased with the circumstances, this may be an opportunity to thoroughly clean their ranks, at least. I confess that when we found the first binding magics on you we considered the high priests as suspects. But it seemed more likely you’d run afoul of a god.”

Cliopher startles. “That seemed more likely? My lord?”

His Radiancy smiles slightly. “You do seem the type to attract the divine,” he says, whatever that means. “And, yes. I felt some sort of divine presence on you – increasingly, as time went on! – and I still can’t account for that. It seemed a good explanation for how such aggressive magic bypassed my protections.” His Radiancy has the grace to look chagrined. “Which was, perhaps, arrogant of me. Consent and promises can cause strong magic, too; and later the rest of the Ouranatha surely contributed as a group. I did not consider a conspiracy of such size. Rhodin was trying to determine whether Akoni was entirely human.”

...They thought Akoni might be some sort of malicious sea-deity?

Cliopher feels offended on behalf of every god out there, frankly.

“No, my lord. That was – I prayed for assistance, each day. From…” Cliopher hesitates. He doesn’t know how to explain the prayers to Ani without explaining the shell, the typhoons, his long voyage after the Fall. And that sort of darkness isn’t something to delve into lightly. He touches his efela. “Well. Islander gods.”

His Radiancy considers him. “I am sure there is a story there; but I am glad if you say you found only protection in that god. Assuming you did not trade anything…?”

“No, my lord.” Cliopher hopes he didn’t, anyway. He’ll have to ask the Ela about a proper gratitude-offering when he goes home.

“Good; though I expect you would come out the winner in any negotiations! I went into trances several times trying to trace those gods… I was not certain how we would break a divine curse, if that’s what had happened.” His amusement fades. “It is disturbing that the Ouranatha circumvented our magics without such help.”

“With wild magic.”

“Yes; I will have to investigate that, as a security concern.” A pause. “You know Initiate Ela is dead?”

“Yes.”

“It is perfectly understandable if you’re disturbed by that.”

“I understand it was necessary, my lord.”

His Radiancy stares hard at Cliopher for a moment, who belatedly realizes he shouldn’t be making eye-contact anyway. He inclines his head.

“You should continue resting,” says his lord, in abrupt dismissal. He whirls around to disappear into the Inner Apartments.

Cliopher almost turns to exit before he remembers he is, in fact, still assigned a room here. He starts to head to those quarters, and realizes quickly Rhodin and Ludvic are trailing him. “Do you have a moment, Cliopher? If you’re feeling up to it.”

His ribs throb. Cliopher’s starting to feel the effects of a headache, but not significantly worse than the stress-induced ones he gets every other day. He shifts away automatically from the looming guards. “Now is fine.”

So they sit down in one of the many rooms of the Inner Apartments – Cliopher doesn’t even recognize it, though he’s more familiar with these halls than anyone outside the Imperial Guards and his lord’s attendants. Nevertheless it’s beautiful and clean; he sinks into an outrageously soft couch and holds his writing-kit on his lap.

He does not expect, upon sitting, for his friends to drop straight into first-degree apologies. He waves them up at once with an alarmed flail instead of the proper gesture. “Whatever are you doing!” he cries.

Rhodin sighs at him; Ludvic remains impassive. “Cliopher. You must acknowledge that we failed. You were captured despite being assigned a guard.”

“A guard I sent away; I hope you don’t punish Varro for that.”

Rhodin shakes his head. “Varro isn’t the point. You should have been able to get help sooner; someone should have noticed you were being hurt, and the spell, and – all of it!”

“...you do excellent work,” usually. “It is unfair to expect perfection.” Although he’s still miffed they let him keep working under an enchantment that affected his communications, divine involvement or not; he’ll have to set up a chart of procedures in case someone in compromised like that again.

“We didn’t even realize you were still in danger,” Rhodin adds, bitter. “It was clear you were scared, I just thought that you were – well. Understandably shaken by the entire near-murder experience.”

“Intimidated,” says Ludvic.

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” Cliopher murmurs. He runs a hand absently over his writing-kit, fiddling with the straps. “I didn’t even try to approach Ludvic until – well; I should have tried sooner.”

Rhodin makes an odd motion, like he wants to reach out and thinks better of it; he settles on a long and solemn stare, as though trying to impart some message straight into Cliopher’s mind.

Ludvic is grave. “We cannot apologize enough. You trusted us to help you; we forced you to walk back to the threat, instead. We will be reviewing the entire situation with himself. If we continue in our posts,” is there real concern they will not? “I can only say we will try to do better.”

He’s allowed to move to his new apartments.

It occurs to Cliopher, when he wakes there one day nauseous and trembling from nightmares, that he’s probably never going to get married.

It’s not a new thought. But it never stops hurting. He grew up surrounded by a sprawling family. Anywhere on the island, he could call out and find three or four helpful Mdangs nearby if he needed anything.

But he’s grown distant with that family. Now he’s just strange cousin Kip who sailed away, who forgot his people. Cousin Kip, who left.

I suppose you aren’t even much of an Islander anymore, Akoni said.

And Cliopher doesn’t care for sex most of the time, which makes things harder. He’s ambitious and busy and has no time for friends, much less family. Selfish is probably not the right word, not when he’s striving for the sake of all Zunidh. Self-centered, though; certainly that.

It’s not really that he wants to be married. It’s just that he would like to have someone. The certainty of a partner who will always be there, to accompany him, to listen, to curl up with at night…

Friends leave, and family does too.

And partners…

Cliopher remembers Akoni placing a hand on his neck, pushing and pulling at him like he was just an object. Remembers his scratched throat and aching knees. It seemed like something he could endure, at the time, for the possibility of a future with someone… but that never really existed.

He thinks about getting up to dance, or work, or even just sit with a pot of tea. But he’s still shaking. He curls over himself and lays there until the sun is high outside, and then he drags himself away. To... relax. Because he’s still on leave, and has nothing to do.

Cliopher should go pester his friends for more information. He should ask about the investigation into the Ouranatha, the details of their arrest, the size of the conspiracy… He should ask about funeral rites for Akoni, who was still an Islander. He should insist they include him on the discussions and debriefings that will inevitably follow a severe threat to his Radiancy’s magic.

Cliopher does none of these things. The guards can handle it, he tells himself. They handled nothing else, so they can handle the clean-up.

And he doesn’t want to hear the details, anyway. Not yet.

Cliopher goes home for a brief vacation. His lord insists.

It’s alright. Normal.

It’s painfully normal.

He goes fishing. He goes to dinner with old friends. He walks through shallow tides, the sun hot on his skin, and declines overtures to play sports because his ribs are still healing. No one asks what happened.

At night his mother tuts about how his relationship ended, again, and shouldn’t he really be married by now? Cliopher nods and agrees. Yes, he should. He knows.

Cliopher’s relieved to see Kiri acting normally when he returns to Solaara. When he tentatively asks how she’s feeling, she insists she isn’t bothered at all. Not even by the memory of the dead Ouranatha. “They did act against the Glorious One,” she dismisses.

Cliopher is fond of Kiri, but her specific brand of devotion can be unsettling.

As for his Radiancy…

It’s fine. They get back to work. Conju develops a habit of plying Cliopher with extra coffee and some rather delicious foreign cookies, which he doesn’t mind at all. The guards are a little more solicitous than normal, but that’s fine. His Radiancy orates. Cliopher writes. They go over the issues he missed while recovering. It’s fine.

Cliopher’s just… tired.

He can’t specify why. He isn’t doing anything more than usual. Sure, he’s not sleeping well, but he never gets much sleep. If anything he’s less active, and spends a great deal of time trying to rest in his lonely new apartments.

So it’s not an extreme surprise when his Radiancy tells Cliopher they need to speak privately.

Cliopher says, “Of course, my lord,” because there is really no other answer. He wonders if his fatigue has drifted into his work; if his lord decided Cliopher is a security threat, after all; if behind his carefully-measured words his lord is just disappointed.

His Radiancy looks at Cliopher. Looks at the guards. He says, “Follow me.”

And he leads Cliopher to the door of his private study.

It’s the little one – the door he enters alone, the single place in the Palace, in the world, where the Sun-on-Earth gets an hour of privacy each day. Cliopher falters as he registers their destination. “My lord?”

“The guards will remain here,” says his Radiancy, disappearing inside. Cliopher exchanges a wide-eyed look with Oginu. Then, of course, he enters.

He’s not sure what he expected the interior of his Radiancy’s private study to look like. He knows, however, that it’s not what he finds: a riot of color, small fabrics and books and treasures tucked away into every corner. A messy couch draped in blankets; a small and battered harp. A pile of broken pens, like someone grew frustrated with them, one after another...

His Radiancy sits, letting Cliopher consider the space. Eventually Cliopher realizes he’s supposed to sit, too, and settles gingerly beside his lord.

“You have not been much yourself, lately,” his Radiancy says.

Cliopher makes an aborted bow, as much as he can while seated. There’s no point standing; amidst all the clutter there isn’t enough room for proper obeisances. “I apologize if my service has been lacking, my lord.”

He looks up; his Radiancy presses his lips together. “That is not what I meant. Cliopher, do you wonder why I brought you here?”

Cliopher does, of course.

His Radiancy continues, “I want to emphasize, you are not obligated to speak with me, nor to answer questions. You can leave now, or at any point, and I will not pursue this again.” A pause. “With that being said; do you want to discuss anything?”

“...my lord,” says Cliopher, and stops.

He thinks – it is almost unbelievable, to imagine that the Lord of Rising Stars brought Cliopher into his most personal space to just… ask him to vent, or cry on his shoulder, or whatever is happening here. Cliopher feels an incredulous laugh rise in his chest; he quickly squashes the urge.

If that is what’s happening – if his Radiancy is reaching out like, almost, a friend – the last thing Cliopher wants to do is laugh.

But the silence stretches. Cliopher doesn’t know what to say. It’s not an easy thing to talk about.

For some reason his Radiancy hands Cliopher a fantastically soft pillow. He stares down at it, bewildered.

“Why don’t you tell me about how you met Akoni,” his Radiancy asks, after a moment. There was nothing else this could be about.

Cliopher can do that.

The harder part is trying not to sound like he’s giving a report – though it does start like that, a little. Cliopher isn’t going to tell his lord about having sex with a stranger the first day they met; the memory makes him remember, embarrassingly, doing the same with Adelia. But he talks about the incorrect portrait of Elonoa’a, and how quickly Akoni identified himself as another Islander. Cliopher was just so happy to speak his own language…

“He seemed kind, at the time… I still don’t know whether it was planned. If he knew the Ouranatha even then, or later.”

“Later,” says his Radiancy. “Ser Rhodin has determined that much. They met Initiate Ela after that first occasion… they were immediately intrigued by his wild magic, which is so difficult to study on Zunidh. They hoped it would help them learn to better control my own gifts – to better control me, as he tried with you. They’ve not worked against me openly since my magic returned after the Fall; they know they don’t have the power. But siphoning from the protections on you...”

“So it was only a coincidence? I remember – I think in hindsight that he performed some magic that first night. He wanted to bind me regardless of their plot,” Cliopher realizes. He’s unsure how he feels about that.

His Radiancy has already deduced this – or more likely discussed it in agonizing detail with Commander Omo. “Yes. We believe, in fact, that the Ouranatha were tempted to use him in part because of your relationship… perhaps even because they realized you were already bound. Magical security is their domain. It was an additional avenue of influence for them,” says his lord bitterly. “They certainly could not have been happy the relationship ended; in a way, you are fortunate he was initiated, that he was so temperamental, and that he so quickly showed his character. I do not want to think what other spells he might have layered onto you over time.”

This is a horrifying idea; Cliopher wraps his arms around the pillow. He’s filled with a sudden, absurd urge to move closer to his Radiancy, just as he’d seek an embrace from any friend.

But that is impossible, in more ways than one.

“I am deeply sorry for not noticing,” says his Radiancy.

Cliopher has never, not in a thousand years, heard his Radiancy apologize. A god does not admit fault; but perhaps his lord is more aggrieved by that status than usual, he thinks, given that his high-priests lie dead for treason. “I would not have expected you to notice, my lord.”

“I have put spells of protection on you over the course of centuries; you came to harm through them, instead.”

“It was my own fault,” Cliopher says. Something in his voice, mortifyingly, shakes as he confesses it. “That binding… it grew stronger over time, didn’t it? I should have – how he behaved – I should have left sooner. Spoken to Ludvic sooner…”

His Radiancy pauses, his burning-gold eyes briefly flicking over to Cliopher’s. “I assumed you did try, the first time he injured you.”

Cliopher thinks of that day at the tavern, the landslide. Days mocking his intelligence, his ambitions, his traditions. The night Akoni put him on his knees and wouldn’t stop. “No, my lord,” he says quietly. “It never seemed – unjustified, at first.”

His Radiancy reaches out to touch Cliopher’s arm.

Cliopher’s heart jumps, even as he freezes.

Cliopher has seen the way his lord flinches from touch, even with layers of fabric between his skin and others. Has seen how he fears it, fears harming someone.

That his concern and affection overpowered that fear – Cliopher could not feel more honored. Which really doesn’t help him feel less emotional.

“You deserve so much better,” his lord murmurs.

The hand on his arm squeezes, gentle. Heat stings at Cliopher’s eyes.

He is ridiculous, ridiculous. He takes a breath. “Thank you. My lord. For – taking the time to - “ he trails off.

Golden eyes scrutinize him. “Do not thank me for that, Cliopher. You deserve happiness; I am only sorry that I cannot…” his Radiancy glances down at Cliopher’s arm, too, and there’s something old and tired there. “...I wish I could do more. I think you have become more dear to me than anyone on this world, or any other; you should never doubt that you are loved.”

And, oh, Cliopher’s crying properly. Alright. This is his life, crying in the secret room of the Lord-Magus of Zunidh, while the Sun-on-Earth awkwardly pets his arm.

When Cliopher has finally cried himself out, and composed himself to a bearable degree, his lord pulls back. He clears his throat. “We were trying to follow the magic for awhile; will you tell me why you left that morning? Where were you going?”

Cliopher’s already described this to Ludvic. Surely he reported it? “Toward the sea, my lord. How could Islander gods help in Solaara?”

“How, indeed.” A brief quiet. “I did notice some spells on you. But I recognized the source, too; and there are many reasons a lover might give away their magic. It seemed consensual.”

“I don’t much like the magical idea of consent.”

“No; magic is not good about following ethics. Do you want me to remove the protections on you, Cliopher? They have not brought you much good.”

Cliopher shakes his head at once; it’s true those protections didn’t help him, but the thought leaves him cold. “So it would be easier for someone to repeat his enchantments? No, my lord. I do not want that.”

“Then perhaps we can discuss the particulars more, so you might understand the limits of those protections.”

Cliopher would feel better with more information. He agrees immediately. Maybe he can keep up his own research, too.

“So you were headed across the sea,” his lord continues. “In the most difficult direction possible, I note. And then the magic took you.”

“You sent a spell, didn’t you, my lord? At the same time as the Ouranatha.”

“Yes; I fear they were faster. But they made a mistake. That particular spell caught my attention at once,” his Radiancy adds voice odd and distant. “It reminded me of… well, I feared they were using you for some other purpose. This is not the worst they could have done to you,” he adds ominously.

Cliopher doesn’t want to know what that means. “But you found me.”

“The spell was blatant; it was too strong to mask. They showed their hand in that moment – and of course you left your note, so we were already considering to what extent the priests were involved. Ludvic had guards on standby near the wizard’s tower.”

It’s nice to know he wasn’t completely useless.

Cliopher doesn’t feel – better, precisely. But it settles something in his chest to know that his lord was trying. “I’m rewriting the protocols about adverse magic on senior officials,” he mumbles. It comes out sulkier than he intends.

His Radiancy’s lip twitches. “Extremely fair.” He sobers. “The Guard, also, have erred in this matter. The threat should never have gone so far.”

No; but it did. And even the Lord Magus cannot change that.

Cliopher scrubs at his face, embarrassment starting to overpower his other emotions. Cliopher should not be wasting his lord’s time like this. But then, he was invited. “...why did you wish to speak with me, my lord? Has my work been insufficient?”

His Radiancy closes his eyes. “You are a very foolish sort of brilliant, Cliopher. No, your work has of course been perfect; except perhaps that you should take more breaks. But we have worked together many years. And you are not well.”

Cliopher doesn’t argue. He can’t.

“I know you tend to save your vacations for visits home. But I insist you take as much time off as you like.”

“My lord - “

“I would rather that you ask for what you need, Cliopher, than worry you will suffer again in silence.” Cliopher can’t argue with that, either. His lord sighs, glancing around them. “You cannot interpret it as a rebuke that I’ve spoken with you in private?”

Cliopher admits, “I do not know how to interpret that. I am not aware of any precedent.”

“Because there is none. You nearly died, Cliopher. You are my Hands; you are precious to me, and to Zunidh. And we would all grieve if you were hurt.” A pause; Cliopher refuses to cry again. “Perhaps some day we can meet privately in less emotional circumstances, my dear secretary.”

“I would like that, my lord.”

The awkwardness is building; Cliopher decides this is a good opening for dismissal, and gets up to bow his respect (yet another breech of etiquette; but there is no room for etiquette in this room, he suspects).

Cliopher straightens at his lord’s gesture. His Radiancy looks uncharacteristically awkward, despite enduring all his emotions and distress with such grace. When Cliopher steps back, his Radiancy blurts, “Cliopher.”

Cliopher halts by the door. “My lord?”

The Sun-on-Earth winces. His eyes flicker between Cliopher and the messy fabrics littering the couch. “You did not touch me directly… but you should probably burn that shirt,” he mutters, apologetic.

His embarrassment is so sincere Cliopher can’t help but smile. “A worthy sacrifice, my lord,” he says.

As he remembers that small touch Cliopher wonders, privately, if his lord might one day let him reach back.

Cliopher will not marry, he supposes. There is no hope left in him for domestic happiness. But he can dedicate himself to his work, and his lord; he hopes that will be enough.