She was afraid of the retribution, but not ashamed of what she’d done.
Michiko nodded to Kris and then returned to face Lavinia.
It was a good duel. She’d done well.
Kris would have their seat, Rumika would have a say, and the wheels of change would turn.
But what would come next?
Chapter 10
Kris
As Michiko stepped away, Kris fell to their knees, overwhelmed. Pain, triumph, pride, fear, worry, and wonder all scrambled in their mind.
I did it. I actually did it, Kris thought.
Kris channeled all those competing impulses into a bellow of triumph, letting themselves empty their mind and still their heart. Kris stood, retrieving their blade and making their way to Yochno. Celebration could wait. There was still one bit of ceremony left.
“The Gauntlet is complete!” Yochno exclaimed, his voice carrying effortlessly. “The count stands four supporting, two opposed, and so, as Seneschal of the Warders’ Circle, I confirm this result. The participating warders, join me upstairs for the ritual of investiture. On behalf of the Circle and Twaa-Fei, thank you for bearing witness to this most momentous ritual. I am made to understand that the people of Rumika have prepared to host a celebration nearby, in the Grand Opera Hall.”
Kris pulled themself together, calling up the first of several speeches they’d prepared. “Rumika wishes to share our excitement and appreciation with all who bore witness and participated in this Gauntlet. Rumika is ready to take our place among the great nations of the sky, to share our culture, our history, and our strength. Please do us the honor of joining us tonight for the celebration.”
•••
The six warders stood around the table, ritual blades in hand. The table had six seats, six flags carved into the marble, as it had since before anyone in the room had been born.
The table was about to change.
The warders took a step back in unison, each carving the same sigil.
Kris and Yochno stood off to the side, along with the junior warders. No others were allowed to bear witness, Yochno explained.
“This sigil is held in confidence by the Circle, specially designed to resonate with the ancient magics that sustain this wondrous tower.”
Lavinia did not bother to contain her anger, but she cut the sigil regardless, bladework perfect. Taro looked displeased but not angry, and in Michiko’s place, Kensuke cut the sigil for Kakute, expression unreadable.
Ojo wore a smile, Penelope a satisfied and resolute look of appreciation if not affection, and Takeshi snuck in an upward curl of the lip out of eyeshot of his fellow imperial warders.
The sigils snapped into place one by one, and as the sixth completed, the table rumbled, becoming lighter and lighter, until it was pure white magical energy. Then, at once, there was a great settling sound, stone dropping into place without falling.
The light faded, revealing the enlarged table, fresh with a seventh place, a seventh seat, and a seventh flag. Rumika’s gold Chimera on red and white looked back at Kris from the table, bisected by the groove for a sword.
A warder’s sword.
Yochno gestured to the seat. “Step forward, Kris Denn of Rumika.”
Kris took their place in front of the seat, presenting their blade. The blade that had laid in a box since their departure from Rumika, untouched until now. Blessed by the elders of each village, with a pommel made from polished aerstone from the lowest point on the island, the sword represented how the warder would bear up their people. They took the blade and set it into the groove on the table.
Another flash, and Kris saw countless ribbons of light lashing up from the table and wrapping themselves around the sword, snapping into place and fading from vision.
“And so,” Yochno said, “the Circle is increased. Congratulations and welcome, Warder Denn.”
The warders clapped. Even Lavinia, though she did so over dagger eyes.
“Thank you all,” Kris said. “I look forward to serving alongside each of you, learning from your experience, and doing my best to honor the mission of this Circle—to foster greater peace and understanding between the nations. I hope you’ll all join me at the celebration this evening. And then I think I’ll be sleeping until the next meeting.”
That got a chuckle, and not just from Ojo.
•••
The rest of the day was a whirlwind. Alyx and Nik had taken most of the preparations on themselves, with a core of volunteers and the staff of the Grand Opera. The multitiered foyer had been done up in the red and white of Rumika, with great banners, ribbons, and carpets adorning every surface.
There, on a middle tier, Rumikan cooks and chefs shared traditional meals from the islands, from apricot pheasant to Kwel tarts and everything in between. Kris made sure to stop at the tables each time they passed, if only to eat enough to stay upright after their exhausting week.
Their attire and hair helped force them to take it slow. It was the most elaborate outfit they’d ever worn. Alyx had insisted on extravagance.
A half dozen Rumikan tailors had competed to dress Kris for the celebration, and they’d ended up wearing a grandiose version of Rumikan traditional wear—another way in which they were being made to stand for their whole country. They wore a fitted jacket that opened into voluminous gored sleeves in contrasting red and white with gold trim, and a full skirt with a separate section drawn up and pinned to the shoulder as a cape that then draped into a long tail.
Their hair was pulled tight from their left side and draped over their left shoulder, wavy tresses pulled into swirling knotted braids at their crown, then falling over their shoulder in intricately formed curls.
On the lowest level, a Rumikan band played folk tunes as their companion dance troupe performed traditional dances, teaching foreigners the simple steps and inviting them to join in the dances of harvest, of marriage, and more. The troupe roped Kris into joining them for one go at Chimera’s March, a celebratory dance from Kris’s home village. Blatant pandering to be sure, but as the leaders beckoned Kris into the center to play the role of the Chimera, Kris’s heart soared.
The warders and diplomatic entourages mostly kept to the reserved upper level. It was the easiest place to catch one’s breath, but the most socially fraught. A reminder that, more than ever, their every move would be scrutinized.
As the hero of the hour, Kris had to be on the entire time, gracefully receiving thanks, making the acquaintance of local dignitaries, political actors of all stripes and creeds, and dozens of grateful Rumikans, each with a story about how they just knew Kris would win. Kris tried to commit every name to memory, but knew they’d remember barely a fraction if not for the small bound book they kept in their jacket, jotting notes down after each encounter.
Kris picked out a moment when Takeshi was alone by the refreshments, then slid in through the crowd.
“Thank you again. That poultice worked wonders.”
Surprised, Takeshi nearly dropped his dish. The food wobbled, and Kris shot out their hand to steady his plate. Their hands touched, and Kris felt that same warmth again.
“You’re very welcome,” Takeshi said. “You look—”
“Takeshi!” Lavinia cut him off from across the landing. “Are you quite done?”
Takeshi gave Kris a quick bow, said “Congratulations,” then returned to the imperial cadre. They were a circle closed against the room, present but not participating.
Is it so terrible for Takeshi to make friends? Kris wondered. Were the other imperial warders allowed any autonomy under Lavinia? Each warder was a puzzle that Kris would have to solve, made all the more complex because of their ever-changing connections.
But that was a gauntlet for another day.
Hours after the sun had vanished beneath the mists, once the diplomatic level was empty of the imperial delegation, Kris sought out Ojo. The big man was chatting with Adechike, Taro, and Nik, who shared a plate of Rumika sweets.
&
nbsp; “Warder Kante, may I have a word in private?”
Ojo excused himself and the two stepped out onto a small balcony overlooking the city.
The evening air wrapped its cool tendrils around Kris’s hair, but the growing chill could not dim the warmth in their heart.
“The city is truly beautiful.” Stained-glass windows glowed by lantern light, banners whipping on rooftops. They saw buildings of every style and make, from the impossibly ancient tower to the wooden skeletons of new construction. Twaa-Fei lived the promise of the Circle every day, proving that the people of the nations could live together in harmony.
“You’ll have plenty of chances to get to know it now, Warder.” Ojo added a warm touch to his voice with that last word, and Kris found an unbidden smile upon their lips.
“How long did it take you to get used to the title?”
“Until the day I looked up from my work and realized I’d been Senior for Quloo for a decade.”
Kris turned and saw Ojo’s face alight with a smile. They answered in kind. “I’ll be sure to make a note to myself to be very careful about looking up. Somewhat dangerous for when I head down-island for tea.”
“Already you bear the wisdom of years.”
“I think it’s the tea.”
They laughed together, and for a moment the burden of responsibility felt lighter.
Kris took a long breath, felt the breeze in their hair. The past week had been so full, and Kris wanted to set this celebration off on its own so they would never forget it.
Kris turned from the view to face Ojo. “I wanted to thank you, Warder Kante.”
“Ojo is fine. We are peers now, yes?”
“Yes. Ojo, thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have succeeded without your assistance, and not just because of your vote in the Gauntlet itself.”
Ojo raised his glass to salute. “The Circle will be stronger with seven. I don’t expect you’ll have an easy first year, given how the winds are blowing.”
The imperials. Vanians’ prejudice against Rumikans’ birthright, and whatever other challenges to Kris’s authority emerged as they established themselves in the Circle.
“I never expected that it would be easy,” Kris said. “Lavinia won’t let this go without some response. Which is why Rumika needs allies.”
Kris stood up to their full height, shoulders back, expression softened as they gave Ojo a conspiratorial smile. “As my first act as warder, aside from all of this”—Kris gestured back to the party—“Rumika will offer Quloo the first chance to bid on exclusive trade rights for Rumikan aerstone. Quloo gets the relief it needs, and Rumika gets a strong partner in the sky.”
Ojo’s face nearly glowed from within. “Quloo is honored. This is what we’ve both been working for, and now we can bring it to fruition together. Shall we work out the details over tea?”
Kris smiled. The future lay before them, endless possibilities. Challenges, too, but they would not be alone. They had their people at their back, friends and allies on Twaa-Fei, and the authority of a warder.
They would forge a bright future for their people. Whatever else came next, Rumikan histories would remember this day as one of triumph.
Episode 5
Trade Deal
By Malka Older
Prologue
Whorls of mist eddied below the aerstone-plated hulls of the cargo ships in Omber, Rumika’s main harbor. It was not a good sign. Old superstition claimed that uneasy mists below the harbor were linked to storms farther out, and some believed the turbulence presaged mist-fiend attacks.
But the cargo on these vessels could not wait. Onshore, yellow-robed priests traced Firespurter signals for good fortune, the sparks shooting high into the sky in lucky helices. In case prayer wasn’t enough, each ship boasted two master navigators and an additional complement of four bladecrafters for protection.
Trade minister Pyr stepped off the gangplank after a final inspection of the cargo, and gave the launch signal with a flourish. Mooring ropes were loosed and coiled. On seven decks, seven navigators carved the sigil to rise, and the convoy elevated with majestic precision.
Hundreds of leagues away, in the large, still undecorated suite that had been designated the Rumikan embassy in Twaa-Fei, Kris looked up from their first official use of the reflecting pool that would serve as their primary communication with their home island. “What do you think?” they asked Ojo, unable to keep the pleased smile from their face. “Does the shipment look like what you need?”
Ojo did not match Kris’s smile, but offered a warm handclasp instead. “My friend. The shipment is perfect. The quality looks very impressive.” Ojo shifted his stance, hoping to encourage Kris toward the exit. He needed to call his own country to confirm the embarkation. Most warders would understand the need for privacy without it being said, but Kris apparently had not caught on. It felt churlish to ask Kris to leave after sharing the Rumikan’s own communiqué.
“Hopefully this will be the beginning of a fruitful relationship between our islands!” Kris had planned a brief speech, practicing with Alyx in their chambers to smooth the unaccustomed diplomatic language, but in the moment they were inspired to expand on it. “We will forge bonds as light and strong as the aerstone we trade, and our joined strength will allow us to construct, um, cooperation like fleets of ships lacing the sky together.”
They paused for breath, and Ojo jumped in. “Well said, well said! Now, if you will excuse me for a moment, I need to speak briefly with the Bright Chamber.”
“Oh. Of course.” Kris took a step toward the door, wondering what Ojo might need to say about the deal that they could not be a party to.
“Kris.” Ojo strode after them to the door of the chamber and clasped Kris’s hand again. “Thank you. Truly. You have done us a great service.”
Kris was surprised to see the tears standing in Ojo’s eyes. “Hardly a service,” they said, attempting to lighten the mood. “You’re paying us well for it!”
Taking the cue, Ojo finally smiled. “So you’ll be standing for the tea tonight, then?”
Kris smiled back, relief lighting their face. “At least the first round! I’ll see you there!”
Chapter 1
Michiko
The early morning couriers from the Mertikan embassy were getting very annoying.
Michiko was still sore from the duel, and not just physically. She had been replaying the critical moment over and over in her mind for most of the night, and she still wasn’t sure whether she had done the right thing. She had only just dropped off to sleep when the messenger rang.
Last month, even last week, Michiko would have been caught in a rush of adrenaline by the note, breath racing as she tried to sculpt a flawless appearance without delaying her requested attendance at the embassy. After that night, she didn’t even have the energy to be anxious about it. Michiko pulled her hair into something resembling the low formal knot that compromised between Kakutan tradition and shorter Mertikan styles, smoothed the trailing sleeves on her third-best robe, and made her way to the Mertikan embassy.
Lavinia was waiting for her in the private reception room. During her hurried bow—her nerves had caught up with her as she entered the room—Michiko could see Bellona standing in the background, just in front of the aerstone-inlaid carved screen, with an expression somewhere between scandalized and smug.
“Well?” Lavinia asked, before Michiko had even straightened up. “What were you thinking?”
Michiko froze, wondering if Lavinia knew she could have fought better at the Gauntlet duel. “I . . .” She had to try again to get a sentence out. “I’m sorry. Kris is very skillful, and I suddenly felt ill.”
“She does look tired,” Bellona put in, and Michiko’s eyes darted to her, wondering if Bellona was actually on her side.
Lavinia pounced, ignoring Bellona so thoroughly, she almost talked over her. “Then maybe you should have adhered to the initial schedule, instead of offering unnecessary assistance to
your enemy! They hardly extended you the same courtesy.”
Michiko should have said something about how Kris had no way to know she wasn’t feeling well, but she was still startled by hearing Lavinia refer to the Rumikan as her enemy.
“I’m sure she did her best,” Bellona commented. Maybe she really was trying to help. “The Kakutan style does have its weaknesses. And you know she hasn’t had the benefit of our training program.”
Michiko swallowed and looked away. If that was Bellona’s idea of helping, she wasn’t sure she wanted it.
“She is here as warder!” Lavinia snapped, without looking away from Michiko. “She must be able to hold her own! Otherwise, what use is she?”
Michiko’s eyes focused on the screen behind Bellona. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, the wood carved in sinuous designs, the aerstone inlay precisely balanced so that it floated continuously at ankle height above the floor. The first time Michiko had been in this room she’d noted it as an example of the opulence and art of Mertikan culture. Now she wondered where the aerstone had come from. Was it from Kakute, perhaps? From Ikaro? Couldn’t it be put to some better use than decoration for an embassy chamber that few non-Mertikans ever saw the inside of?
“I suppose illness, however foolishly contracted, is still better than deliberate defiance,” Lavinia sneered, stepping closer. “That, as I’m sure you understand, would require your immediate replacement here and possibly prosecution!”
Anger made Michiko want to shout that of course she’d done it on purpose, but she lowered her eyes with a murmured, “Indeed.” Was she being weak or practicing proper etiquette? She no longer knew.
“If your health is so delicate, maybe you should stop visiting that filthy teahouse so much and confine yourself to a more hygienic diet. In the meantime, I want you on a strict training regimen!” Lavinia ordered. “Two hours of practice each day with Bellona or, when I have time, with me.”
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