The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  “Hmm?” Either Takeshi was drunker than he appeared, or he was lost in his own thoughts. “Oh, please don’t mention it. Of course I wouldn’t think you had done it on purpose. Why would you . . .” He trailed off, obviously remembering how viciously Lavinia had hurt Kris.

  “Well,” Kris said, uncomfortable now themself. “I don’t know if that’s how warders behave . . . but I don’t!” They recovered their smile. “And I really was impressed with your fighting.”

  Takeshi immediately flushed. “What? When?”

  “At the Gauntlet, of course,” Kris said.

  Takeshi got even redder, and Kris realized he thought he was being made fun of.

  “I mean it,” they said hurriedly. “Your bladecrafting is excellent; I really learned a lot. That was the best Marksman’s Arrow I’d ever seen, and then the way you were able to keep up the sigils under pressure when I closed in. It was just luck that I— And then I messed up, going too hard—”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Takeshi responded. “I— It had been a long day, and you are so fast, I got flustered—” He stopped immediately and put his hand over his mouth in an almost comic gesture of dismay.

  Kris was so surprised that they fell silent. Takeshi’s eyes dodged around the room. He started to speak again with a jerk, as though it took an effort to get the sound out. “I guess I was tired.” He put his hands on the table. “I’m pretty tired now, actually. I think—”

  “Takeshi,” Kris said, and then repeated it when Takeshi didn’t seem to hear them. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not trying to trick you or attack you.” They put a hand on Takeshi’s, hoping to crack through the panic. “Really! I just want to help.”

  Takeshi stayed in his seat but eyed Kris suspiciously. “Why?”

  Kris opened their mouth and realized they didn’t have a reason, or at least not one they could put into words. Takeshi seemed like the kind of person they could be friends with, and he seemed to need help, and they hadn’t thought any further than that. Kris tried to imagine how someone like—not Bellona, that was too much, but maybe Michiko?—would think about this. Or how Takeshi must see it, after living in Twaa-Fei for years.

  “You could have made it a lot harder for me in the Gauntlet, and you didn’t,” they said finally. “And I might need your help in the future.” Takeshi’s hand relaxed beneath Kris’s on the table, but Kris’s good mood had somewhat deflated. Were they going to be that cynical after a few years on Twaa-Fei?

  “Anyway,” Takeshi said, recovering a little, “nothing’s going on. As I said, I was just tired.”

  Kris took a deep breath. “You were flustered—that’s what you said. And,” he added, remembering, “you did look stressed.” Takeshi seemed grimly determined not to show any expression. “I’ve fought a lot of Ikarans in cross-island tourneys,” Kris went on, as gently as they could. “They never get stressed.”

  Takeshi withdrew his hand from Kris’s to cover his face. “Could everyone tell?”

  “No, no, I don’t think so. It was slight, just your breathing and your timing. What is it? Are you sick?”

  “I don’t know,” Takeshi whispered from behind his hands. “I have never— I don’t have the birthright. I’ve never had it.”

  Kris was silent for a moment. “You were born somewhere else?”

  Takeshi lifted his face, taking a deep breath in. “I don’t know. At sea, I suppose. Or maybe here? But no one has ever told me anything about it.”

  Kris looked at him with renewed respect. “You mean to tell me you earned the warder position without any birthright?”

  A half smile lit Takeshi’s face. “I guess I did,” he said. But the smile faded as quickly as it had come. “I’m not sure how long I can last this way though. It’s hard hiding this. And I am at such a disadvantage in duels. I studied bladecraft as hard as I could, but I’ve never been good enough at the fighting.”

  “I don’t know. It seems like you’re doing pretty well,” Kris said. “Besides, I don’t have the Ikaran birthright either.”

  “No, but you do have a birthright.”

  “Not one that helps particularly with dueling,” Kris pointed out.

  “I don’t know,” Takeshi said, looking down again. “I think . . . maybe . . . knowing who you are gives you a kind of confidence that must be helpful on some level. Besides, I can’t relax. I’m always one duel away from being exposed.”

  “Would it be that bad?”

  Takeshi shook his head without breaking eye contact. “I couldn’t represent Ikaro if I wasn’t born there.”

  “Maybe it was something else,” Kris said. “You can’t know for sure.”

  “Maybe,” Takeshi said heavily. “I am studying birthrights to try to figure out what went wrong with mine.”

  “And maybe fix it?”

  Takeshi shrugged; he didn’t seem to be holding out much hope of that.

  “I don’t know anything about your experiments,” Kris said thoughtfully. “But I can help you with one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let’s become practice partners. I can learn much from your craft, and lots of sparring is the best thing to reduce your stress in an actual duel.”

  “You would do that?” Takeshi asked, his smile fluttering to life again.

  “It’s not a favor,” Kris said. “I mean it: I could learn a lot from you! And I can always use more practice partners.”

  Takeshi’s smile widened, and Kris was struck by how much it brightened his face. They felt a growing warmth inside. Yes. Kris could be good at being a warder, and enjoy it too.

  Chapter 6

  Michiko

  Hands trembling, Michiko lit her candle on her third try. She had waited until she was sure the embassy was quiet. It was taboo to disturb anyone while they were communing with their ancestors, but Michiko didn’t feel as if she could count on anything anymore. Lavinia or Bellona certainly wouldn’t hesitate to break into what they saw as a primitive ritual, and Michiko didn’t even trust Kensuke at this point.

  But it had been days since she had spoken with her ancestors, the longest she had ever gone. She missed her great-aunt and uncle, who had been caring presences in her life since she was a child, maybe even more so since they had passed. And Michiko knew they missed her too. She was the most consistent of their descendants, and she felt guilty for leaving them alone for so long. If only there was a way to see them without opening her mind to the Golden Lord!

  But then, Aiko and Hiroaki had lied to her too, hadn’t they? Nobody had ever told her about her heritage. And they had always urged her to do whatever was necessary to make Mertika proud of her, although that felt very different on Kakute than it did here, in the face of Lavinia’s scorn.

  With a sigh, Michiko lit a stick of nakul wood from the candle and inhaled its smoke. She needed to see them. However uncomfortable it was going to be, she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Her uncle Hiroaki was the first voice to join her as the incantation faded, and Michiko was aware of a disloyal pang of annoyance. Perhaps because he was closer to the mortal world, Hiroaki had always been more interested in Michiko’s career and achievements, more conditional in his love. On the other hand, at least it wasn’t the Golden Lord yet. “How are you, Niece?” he asked. And, true to form, he immediately added, “How was the Gauntlet? Did you prove yourself worthy of the honor?”

  Michiko swallowed hard. “I . . . I tried very hard, Uncle.”

  There was an ominous pause. “Does that mean you failed? You know how important that was!” There was a silence, the absence of sound that expresses a sigh among the unbreathing. “You know that unless you demonstrate your excellence, they will not respect any of us. You must show them that Kakutans are as good as any Mertikan!”

  Michiko did know. After her interview with Lavinia and Bellona this morning, it was even clearer. What she didn’t know was why she had failed.

  “Oh, leave her alone, Hiroaki!” Aiko’s voi
ce was so welcome that Michiko felt tears start in her eyes. “How are you, my dear? Were you injured?” Michiko shook her head, unable to vocalize an answer. “You must miss home very much.”

  “I do,” Michiko said with a sudden onrush of feeling. For a moment she wanted more than anything to be back on Kakute, but then she couldn’t help but wonder whether Kakute would still feel like home if she were there. “Great-Aunt, I . . . I failed to defeat Kris of Rumika in the Gauntlet.”

  Aiko clucked comfortingly. “There, there. It happens to all of us. Why, I remember once when—”

  “I did it on purpose!” Michiko whispered desperately. “That is to say . . . I had an opportunity that might have let me win, and I let it go because . . . Mertika told me to defeat them and . . . and I’m not sure I could have anyway, they’re very good, but I was angry because Mertika didn’t have good reasons for blocking them—it wasn’t a point of policy; it was for a warder seat—and the way they asked me—no, ordered me—was beyond humiliating. . . .” Michiko realized she was babbling into a shocked silence.

  The otherworldly quiet was broken suddenly by peals of laughter. “You defied Mertika? Excellent! A shame you had to throw a duel to do it. That is bad form, indeed, my granddaughter, but worth it to deny those Mertikans their triumph!”

  Suddenly Michiko was overcome by anger. How dare he interrupt her conversation with her great-aunt and uncle, her real ancestors, who had always been there for her? How dare he appropriate her anguish over her decision?

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, gasping through gritted teeth. It might have been a scream if she hadn’t been so aware of the quiet of the embassy around her. “You think everything is clear and easy, right and wrong. It’s not! At least not anymore. You think everything is won and lost on the battlefield. Well, you lost! You lost and you lost our whole country and now, because of you, we have to compromise. So stop telling me what to do!” Michiko broke apart into rough-hewn sobs. She was so distraught. she almost lost the connection, but she grasped at the memory of her great-aunt’s wrinkled hands clutching hers long ago when she was alive, and held on to it until she was calmer and could feel the presence of all three of her ancestors again.

  “I’m sorry, Great-Aunt,” she whispered at last. “I feel that I have failed everyone. But Mertika is not always right.”

  Hiroaki started to grumble something, but Aiko cut him off. “Of course, dear, nobody is always right. But the empress is our liege, and that relationship is too important to risk. We owe them our loyalty, and the best way to advance within that relationship is by proving our perfect loyalty along with our excellence in battle.” Her tone was gentle with forgiveness, but that hurt even more.

  “If you could see them here,” Michiko said despairingly. “The senior warder is so cruel, and even . . .” She trailed off into a sigh. It felt too petty to go into all the little ways Bellona had hurt her feelings.

  “This is how the oppressors always are.” It was the Golden Lord’s voice again, but even he sounded strangely chastened. “They will never think of us as equals.”

  “You must do what you think is right,” Aiko said, her voice cutting across the Golden Lord’s just as she had overrun Hiroaki. “My dear, this all must have been a shock to you, but you have been brought up well. You have skill and you have pride. You must draw on them to decide what to do.”

  “You must never give in!” the Golden Lord spat out hurriedly: the nakul wood was guttering, and the connection was almost gone. “You must fight for your homeland!”

  The spark at the end of the incense died, and the candle flickered and extinguished as the ritual ended. Michiko was left alone in the darkness.

  Chapter 7

  Adechike

  Someone had clearly explained to the Quloi embassy cook how to make matoke, but he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. Either that, or maybe the ingredients available on Twaa-Fei were subtly different from what Adechike was used to at home. The tea, on the other hand, was far better, and he drank a deep draught with appreciation.

  “Like it?” Ojo asked, with a knowing smile. “I get it directly from Shun. That’s a relationship you should be sure to cultivate.”

  “Sounds wise,” Adechike agreed. He stretched luxuriantly, still waking up. It was Mist-Day, and after the whirlwind of arrival, the Gauntlet, and the trade deal, it felt good to have a lazy morning. “Has the trade convoy arrived yet?”

  “Not yet, but they’re not expected until later today at the very earliest.” Despite his unconcerned words, Ojo got up from the table and paced over to the window.

  “It’s a great thing, Uncle,” Adechike said, trying to bring Ojo back into the sense of optimism Adechike himself felt whenever he thought about the trade deal. “With a single stroke you have resolved one of the great challenges facing our country.”

  Ojo turned from the window. “We haven’t solved anything, Adechike.” His face was tight. “Delayed it, perhaps.”

  “What do you mean? Surely that quantity of aerstone . . .” He trailed off as he registered Ojo’s expression.

  “Our island is sinking, Adechike.” Ojo’s voice was heavy, his shoulders weighed down with worry. “It’s sinking faster than you know, faster than almost anyone outside the Bright Chamber is aware.” His voice dropped still lower. “They are not sure whether the trend is reversible.”

  “But—but—” Adechike sputtered until his natural optimism reasserted itself. “But the trade deal! Surely that quantity of aerstone, at that level of purity—it will make a difference! It must!”

  “If we are fortunate, it will slow our decline, perhaps even give us time to find another source,” Ojo admitted. “But I have no idea what that might be.”

  Adechike shook his head in confusion. “We can always get more from Rumika.”

  Ojo looked at him sharply. “I hardly think they will follow us down the path of exploitation. And it wouldn’t be ethical to encourage them to,” he added, as if to himself.

  Adechike stared. The stalwart, principled Ojo Kante, needing to talk himself out of an action that would clearly be wrong. The state of their nation must be desperate indeed! “It doesn’t have to be exploitation,” Adechike managed finally. At least he could feel happy about bringing good news. “Kris was telling me the other night . . .” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember the details. “What they sold us came from less raw aerstone than you would expect. They have found a way of refining it, some better processing system they’ve developed at the university and already put into practice.” He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t get the full schema. But Kris said we could conduct further deals.”

  Ojo was frozen in his spot midway between the window and the door to the library. “Processing?”

  “Yes,” Adechike said. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder how it was that Ojo didn’t already know this. “The university has been working on it, made some breakthrough . . .” He shook his head. His memories of that night were too blurry to come up with more specifics. “You should talk to Kris about it directly.”

  “Yes,” Ojo said, sounding vague. He turned toward the library. “I think I better speak to Chigozie first, however. Perhaps the shipment has already arrived.”

  Adechike watched him go, with the sense of having made some terrible mistake but unsure whether it was against his country or his friend.

  Chapter 8

  Michiko

  When Bellona appeared at the Kakute embassy during Mist-Day, Michiko’s first impulse was to tell her to get lost. Wasn’t she standing up to Mertika now? But she had been wandering around the embassy all day, stewing in the confusion and frustration left over from her ritual the night before, and Bellona was practically incandescent. She seemed, for once, to be excited about something that didn’t have to do with politics.

  “Guess what I found,” she blurted out as soon as she walked into the Kakute embassy salon.

  Michiko tried to give her an uninter
ested look, but Bellona didn’t seem to register it. “A new club opened up, and they do spiral dances every Mist-Day. I heard they have a great caller!”

  “Really?” Spiral dancing was a Mertikan tradition, but it had been popular in Kakute for years—probably since the conquest, Michiko realized with a pang of guilt. For a while it was the only thing in Michiko’s life that could compete with bladecraft training for her interest, and even now she felt her lassitude melt away at the idea of it.

  “Yes, really! Come on—get dressed!” Bellona’s impatience and imperiousness seemed a lot less offensive now that they were aimed at doing something fun rather than gaining power for herself. She seemed younger, more vulnerable. Besides, moping around the embassy for the rest of the day suddenly seemed intolerable.

  Michiko suffered a minor crisis in her chambers trying to figure out what to wear. Fashions in Twaa-Fei were generally less conservative than those in Kakute, and she wondered whether her standard spiral dance robe would look horribly gauche here. Then she remembered that Bellona was wearing a tunic and gladiator sandals up to mid-thigh, and decided she couldn’t do worse.

  Bellona led her to the lifts and down to the second level of Twaa-Fei. They turned away from the Autumn Leaf, which was still the only place that Michiko felt comfortable finding on her own on the middle island. The streets down here were twisty and narrow compared to the broader avenues on the diplomatic level or the more cargo-friendly spaces by the ports. To her surprise, Michiko caught some syllables of a language she didn’t recognize, and she wondered if this was the Zenatai neighborhood Takeshi had mentioned. Then Bellona turned into a slope-roofed building festooned with the traditional twists of colored ribbon, and as soon as Michiko heard the accelerating beat of the spiral dance ribbon, she forgot everything else.