The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  The curtain parted to admit a server with a pot of hot water and two teacups. He began preparing the tea, and as if to drive home his point, Ojo went on talking. “Once you’ve passed the Gauntlet, I think you’ll find the Autumn Leaf a very useful home. Lavinia and the other Mertikans know about it, of course, and you’ll see them here from time to time, but they’re too arrogant to truly understand the value of this place. And that will give you opportunities.”

  The server left. “I appreciate the confidence,” Kris said, reaching for the tea.

  Ojo stopped them with a raised hand. “Let it steep a moment longer. I’m confident because I’m going to do everything I can to help you join the council. Rumika should have had a seat ages ago. And with your recent aerstone successes, you’re becoming quite a power in the sky.”

  “I mean to win my seat fair and square,” Kris warned him.

  “I don’t intend anything else. But political negotiation is part of the game, and I’ve been on Twaa-Fei long enough to know the currents. You can try the tea now.”

  It tasted as good as it smelled, with a complex flavor that bloomed on Kris’s tongue. “Mmm. This is amazing.”

  Ojo sipped his own tea. “I’m not going to pretend I’m as neutral as Twaa-Fei, Kris. I think that friendship between Rumika and Quloo is exactly what we all need to keep Mertika in check, and that will work best if you’re on the council. With your aerstone and our trading fleet, we’ll be too strong for them to threaten either of us.”

  The possibilities made Kris dizzy. They’d known when they entered the first preliminary contest back on Rumika that being a warder would involve more than just fighting duels. They would be Rumika’s representative to the world, with a chance to shape the future. But they’d never expected it would start this early, with another warder—no, just a warder; you’re not one yourself yet—sitting across the table proposing alliance.

  Another server arrived with food, steaming buns and piles of noodles and things Kris didn’t recognize. Ojo thanked her and arrayed the dishes while Kris thought.

  Finally they said, “What do you have in mind?”

  Ojo grinned again. “I’m Quloi, aren’t I? Let’s talk trade.”

  Chapter 6

  Ojo

  Twaa-Fei always cooled off in the evening, regardless of how warm it had been during the day. Ojo stretched luxuriously, marveling once again at the softness of Penelope’s bedsheets. His subconscious always expected her to sleep on burlap or something else suitable to a battlemistress’s austerity.

  But even the most disciplined of battlemistresses did not turn away from pleasure—as he well knew.

  “How do you think the younger ones will fare tonight?” he asked Penelope as he relaxed. By his calculation, Bellona’s “welcome party” for the new juniors had started a little while ago.

  Sweat had glued strands of Penelope’s hair to her forehead. She brushed at them with a lazy swipe of her hand. “I expect Cassia is wondering why she bothered to attend. Takeshi is discussing aerstone theory with someone, or if he’s found no takers, wondering why he bothered to attend. Your Adechike will make friends with all of them before he finishes his first cup of wine.”

  “Except Bellona, maybe.”

  “If anyone can charm her,” Penelope said, “he could.”

  The words were flattering, but stiff. Ojo propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. “What is it?”

  She glanced away, picking the last few strands of hair from her face. “Nothing. I imagine you were much like him, when you were younger.”

  “Not nearly so appealing, I fear. He’s been shamelessly exploiting that smile of his since he was a fat-cheeked toddler. But I appreciate the compliment.” To a Vanian’s way of thinking, men were instinctively violent creatures who needed to be sheltered from their own worst impulses. “Charming” wasn’t a word they normally applied to his gender.

  Something still occupied her. Ojo waited, giving her time to gather herself. Then, without preamble, Penelope said, “I’m pregnant.”

  Ojo almost overbalanced. It wasn’t actually a surprise; the two of them had discussed this months ago. Penelope and her wife wanted a child, and agreed that Ojo would make a good sire. By Vanian standards, that was the highest praise possible, especially for an outsider. But he hadn’t realized they had already succeeded.

  Warmth blossomed inside him. “That’s wonderful,” he said, beaming down at her.

  Penelope sat up, and he shifted out of her way. “I’m about two months along, I think. But it means I’ll be returning to Vania soon.”

  That hit like a splash of cold water. Of course Penelope would go back to Vania; she wouldn’t want her child to be born on Twaa-Fei, to lack the birthright imparted by Vanian soil. To lack all birthright, as citizens of Twaa-Fei did. And expectant mothers never wanted to risk giving birth a-sky.

  But so soon?

  She met his gaze squarely. “And I doubt I will be back for quite some time.”

  He nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around it all. “How long?”

  “At least a year.” She hesitated. “Possibly more.”

  It was as if someone had torn the ground away, leaving him midair and falling fast. It wasn’t a surprise; none of it was a surprise—except the part where he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He hadn’t realized, until just now, how accustomed he was to these evenings in Penelope’s bed. How much he’d grown to enjoy having her on Twaa-Fei. Having her in his life.

  She saw his expression change. “I’m not your wife, Ojo,” she said, her voice harsh.

  “No, I—I know that.” Penelope had a wife already. Ojo had met Semele once, when she came to evaluate him before he and Penelope began their arrangement. He knew he had no claim, and would never dream of making one. But still . . . “I just— You’ve already made your plans, haven’t you?” Without even talking to him about it beforehand.

  Penelope got out of bed and began dressing. “I’ve notified Cassia. She will be warder pro tem while I’m gone, so Vania will not be without a representative. I’m sure I can rely on you to support her, as you so often do with the juniors.”

  It was as if his lover had vanished, replaced by the flawless Vanian battlemistress who shared her name. But Ojo couldn’t shift modes so easily. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  She paused, still only half-dressed, her posture so proud it eclipsed her nakedness. “My apologies, Ojo. You are right—I should thank you. I said when we formed our arrangement that I believed you would make an excellent sire, and I have the utmost confidence that it will prove to be true.”

  A sire. Not a father. He would not be part of the child’s family; as far as Penelope was concerned, his role in this play was over.

  And so, apparently, was everything else.

  He rose and began dressing, mechanically. “You’re welcome. I hope you have a strong and intelligent daughter. If I am not here when you return, I’m sure I can rely on you to support Adechike.”

  “Not here?” Penelope said, startled.

  Ojo shrugged. The words tumbled out of him, driven by impulse rather than thought. “With Rumika on the rise, perhaps it is time to pass the blade to a younger generation. One more prepared for the changes that lie ahead. And I have been gone from Quloo a long time; I find that I miss my home.” A year would be long enough to train Adechike. He hoped.

  Now it was her turn to nod. “I see. And I understand. I miss Vania, too.” She pulled on her shirt, hesitated, and offered him her hand. “May the future inherit peace.”

  It was a Quloi blessing, but a Vanian gesture. He returned her strong grip, and gave her a Vanian blessing in return. “And may you always find victory.”

  Chapter 7

  Michiko

  Before coming to Twaa-Fei, Michiko wouldn’t have believed that anyone could carve a sigil with a blade the size of a penknife. Longer steel was more effective at building and channeling the resonances, which was why almost al
l bladecrafters wielded swords.

  But the lifts that moved people between the tiered islands of Twaa-Fei moved in response to tiny penknives. The lift she boarded was full enough that she wound up standing right next to the operator’s enclosure, a small cage designed to protect the inhabitant from the crowd of passengers. It gave her a full view of the process.

  Michiko was used to thinking of bladecraft as a martial art, dancelike and beautiful. To this woman, though, it was clearly nothing more than a job—one rendered boring by a thousand repetitions. Her movements were perfunctory rather than graceful, and a touch ludicrous given that the blade was no longer than her finger. It shouldn’t have been enough to move so large a platform, with so many people loaded onto it, but the lifts were one of the artifacts from Twaa-Fei’s ancient past. That tiny sigil sent the platform gliding downward, until another one brought it to a shivering halt.

  The flood of people carried Michiko off the lift and into the streets of the middle island. The noise and crowds here made a sharp contrast with the elegance of the top tier, and even though the scents were all wrong, laden with unfamiliar spices, it reminded her of festivals back home. She found herself relaxing a little as she made her way through the streets to the Autumn Leaf Teahouse.

  That tension all came back as she entered, though. Bellona was already holding court in one of the smaller, open-fronted chambers off the main common room. The teahouse staff had set up half a dozen individual tables, with tasseled cushions strewn about so that no one would feel obliged to remain at their place.

  She was the last to arrive. Bellona had taken up residence on a cushion next to Adechike and was deep in conversation with him, toying with the embroidered edge of her drape. Michiko had expected to find Adechike with Kris, but the Rumikan was sprawled across two cushions near Cassia.

  That was a disaster waiting to happen. Michiko considered intervening, decided against it, and turned to the final member of the party.

  Technically, Takeshi belonged here even less than Cassia. Neither of them were new arrivals; they’d been on Twaa-Fei for years. And Takeshi was a senior warder, not serving under someone else. But he was also Ikaran, a colonial subject, and therefore Bellona naturally saw him as her junior.

  He didn’t seem offended. Nor was he alone. One of the teahouse’s servers was distributing small bowls of soft noodles in some kind of mixed sauce, and had stopped at Takeshi’s table. Michiko assumed he was ordering something else, but as she drew near she realized they were just chatting, as if they knew each other.

  Noting Michiko’s approach, the server apologized and excused himself. “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Takeshi said. “I hope it wasn’t anything bad that kept you.”

  Michiko smiled to cover her discomfort. She’d attempted to commune with her ancestors again—her other ancestors—hoping for guidance, but the Golden Lord’s spirit would hardly let them get a word in edgewise. It had left her in worse turmoil than before. “Not at all. I’m surprised you came, though.”

  “To the juniors’ party?” His dry tone made it clear he saw the message hidden beneath Bellona’s friendly invitation. “It was unplanned. I come here fairly often, and forgot this party was tonight. Once Bellona saw me . . .”

  It was impossible for him to escape without giving insult. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Michiko said.

  Kris’s voice caught her ear before she could continue. “So, do you ever get cross-dressers in Vania?” they asked Cassia. “I don’t mean the ananti, the ones whose bodies don’t match their gender. I mean, like, somebody with a male body who doesn’t identify as female, but he wants to go to war so he tells everyone he’s ananti so he can get off the men’s island. Or a woman who would rather have a nice peaceful life farming, so she pretends to be an ananti man.”

  Cassia’s expression would have been comical, if Michiko hadn’t been cringing inside. It was a mix of I can’t believe you just asked me that and I would give anything not to be having this conversation. “A man who wants to go to war would not be permitted to do so,” she said stiffly. “It’s precisely because of those violent instincts that we encourage them to turn their energies in more peaceful directions.”

  “But you have ananti battlemistresses, don’t you? How do you decide that this person here is an ananti woman who can become a brilliant tactician, but that one there is a man who will go berserk and slaughter people if you let him pick up a sword?”

  “Kris, you have to try these!” Adechike had one of the noodle bowls in his hand and a huge grin on his face. “They’re salty and sweet and peanutty, all at once—they’re amazing!”

  Michiko didn’t blame Cassia for bolting while Kris’s attention was elsewhere. Watching a Rumikan and a Vanian try to discuss gender was like being caught midair in a fangwing swarm: it could only end in blood.

  Especially when it was obvious that Kris had already drunk a fair bit of the plum wine. They got up and went to join Adechike, tipping the remainder of the noodle bowl directly into their mouth. “Oh, that’s fabulous. Can we get more of those?” They dropped bonelessly into a cross-legged position across from Bellona.

  Who gave Kris a brittle smile even as her gaze sought out Michiko. The message in it was clear: Why haven’t you done something about this?

  Steeling herself, Michiko picked up her cup and excused herself from Cassia and Takeshi. “There you are!” Kris said as she sat down. “I didn’t see you arrive. Here, let me pour for you.”

  Michiko got her hand over her cup in time to keep it empty, but not in time to stop Kris from pouring; a dribble of plum wine ran over the back of her hand. “I’ll just have tea, thank you.” Kris protested, but she held firm. The things she might say if she got drunk did not bear thinking about.

  Especially since she knew how Bellona would laugh in scorn. That was why Michiko had decided not to tell her about the Golden Lord: it would only be another stick for Bellona to beat her with. You see, this is why ancestral communion is such a burden on your people! You have that man dragging at you like a sky anchor, holding you back, when instead you should be looking ahead to what you might achieve.

  And Bellona would be right. Even if Michiko ignored her ancestor and looked to the future, other people wouldn’t. If they knew she was the Golden Lord’s granddaughter, they would question her loyalty to Mertika. After all, she was Kakutan, and everyone knew they honored their ancestors too much to ever go against their wishes.

  Never mind that most of my ancestors are faithful Mertikan subjects. This one would outweigh them all.

  Fortunately, Adechike kept the conversation flowing smoothly enough to cover for Michiko’s stiffness and Bellona’s annoyance. She wondered if he even knew he was doing it, or whether that gregarious warmth was just reflex.

  Either way, Bellona would misread it. Michiko had assumed this party was the other half of Bellona’s plan, building her own network of political connections with the younger generation. And clearly it was—but true to her Mertikan nature, Bellona wouldn’t be satisfied with that alone. She saw in Adechike a chance to get influence over Quloo, the way Lavinia could never hope to do with Ojo. First a friendship, then an alliance . . . then conquest? Not with steel, perhaps, but a softer takeover, helping out with Quloo’s problems until one day the Quloi turned around and realized they were thoroughly enmeshed in a Mertikan web.

  But for that to work, they needed to be separated from Rumika.

  Getting Kris alone was nearly impossible, though. They left Adechike’s side willingly enough, trying to resume the conversation with Cassia or, when that failed, trying to draw Takeshi out of his shell. Watching them, Michiko was reminded of nothing so much as an energetic puppy bouncing all over a startled and affronted cat. But alone? That was another matter.

  Her opportunity finally came when Kris scrambled out of the nest of cushions, nearly stepping on the hem of their unfolded tail-skirt and drunkenly declaring they needed some tea to counteract the
wine or they were going to fall asleep. Adechike offered up the teapot the servers had brought, but Kris said something disjointed about a special tea and wandered out into the Autumn Leaf’s main room.

  Michiko followed.

  The woman guarding the tea shelves didn’t want to give Kris the canister they were pointing at. “Shun knows! Shun said they’d have some brought up for the party! Go ask them!” Looking annoyed, the woman signaled to one of the servers, who scurried off.

  Kris put their back to the counter and saw Michiko. “Hi! Are you having fun? You don’t look like you’re having fun. Is it because of the Golden Lord?” They shuddered. “That was just awful.”

  Michiko was beyond tired of people offering her sympathy, whether it was because the Golden Lord had died, or because she hadn’t gotten the chance to kill him herself. “No, I’m just a little tired. Look, Kris—” She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one else from the party had followed them. “Don’t you find it a little worrying?”

  Kris cocked their head to one side. “Find what worrying?”

  This was a gamble, but a calculated one. Judging by the way they’d bounced all over Takeshi and poked at sore spots with Cassia, Kris wasn’t the best at reading people’s behavior. “Adechike. The way he’s acting.”

  “You mean . . . friendly?”

  “With Bellona,” Michiko said, letting her tone imply trouble. “I know you and Adechike hit it off right away—but now he’s turning around and cozying up to her?” Bellona was doing most of the cozying, but she was willing to bet Kris hadn’t noticed the distinction.

  Kris shrugged. “Why should that worry me? Adechike’s friendly. And Bellona’s pretty. I’d flirt with her, if she’d give me the time of day.” They pondered it for a moment. “I’d flirt with him, too. Should probably try that first. I have a much better chance there.”

  Michiko ground her teeth in frustration. Whether it was Kris’s natural obliviousness or the wine at fault, subtle hints were obviously going to get her nowhere. And if she tried something more blunt . . . in Kris’s current state, they were likely to charge right back into the room and make a public scene.