Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “People don’t train with injuries like this, Jui. You’ve got to allow yourself energy to heal.”

  “No time.” The feast was at that point, just a month and a half away. His speech was better—but he was no closer to walking unaided. He pushed his food away—his appetite had not really recovered since the accident, and he found eating a chore at the best of times. When he was tired, he honestly thought the effort of shoving the stuff into his mouth for the sake of the fuel, was more trouble than it was worth. “He’p me stan’.”

  “No, you’re tired. Tomorrow.”

  “Now. P’ease.”

  Neime sighed. “All right—but not for long, and then a wash and bed.”

  Neime thought this was pointless—standing without walking wasn’t achieving much—but it made Juimei feel normal, to see the world from his proper height, to look Neime in the eye and not upwards like a child.

  He was heavy, so it was hard for Neime, but his page never complained about lifting him. They’d been doing this for a couple of weeks now, just him and Neime, since the healers were of the opinion it was too soon for him to attempt it. Juimei believed they were wrong, and was determined to prove it.

  Neime pulled him up—Juimei gripped the bedpost tight. “Careful—don’t let go of me yet.” Neime waited until he was completely balanced. “All right—moving away now....”

  There was always this moment of terror once Neime relaxed his grip, and then elation as he found he was still upright. It was probably pointless—his good leg was doing most of the work, and any fool could stand on one leg—but he was still upright, on his own. He grinned at Neime, who smiled tightly back, even though he still tried to look disapproving and was clearly worried. “Tom’ow, I dance.”

  “Huh, not yet, your highness. Now—” He turned at the sound of a knock on the door.

  “Ge’ it.”

  “Let me—”

  Juimei shook his head. “Ge’ it.”

  Neime pursed his lips in annoyance, but did as he was told. Juimei locked his knees and concentrated on not falling.

  It was Miki, who did a beautiful double-take to see him standing. “Juimei!” Juimei grinned at his honest astonishment. “By Sephiz! You’re cured?”

  “No. But I’m be’er. Bet-ter.”

  “Can you walk? Show me!”

  Desperate to please, he tried to take a step, and actually succeeded—but the second one sent him falling, saved only by Neime’s strong arms and then Miki’s. “Be careful, your highness,” Neime scolded. “You’re not there yet.”

  Mortified, Juimei had to let them help him into a chair. To his surprise, Miki gave Neime a cold look. “He won’t learn to walk if you continue to hinder him, Neime. This was what I was coming to speak to you about. Is his highness aware that you’re sabotaging his medical treatment behind his back?”

  “Nei’e?” Juimei said, looking at them both in astonishment.

  Neime was just as confused. “Your grace? What are you talking about?”

  “You, boy. Healer Canzeigu complained to me about your attitude and what you said to him. You have no business contradicting a physician. You’re only a servant, not a healer.”

  “I just asked him to take things a little easier, because his highness—”

  “And what business is that of yours?” Mikinze thundered. “Are you qualified in any way to tell a healer what to do?”

  “Your grace—”

  “Mi’i.” Juimei thumped the arm of his chair with his good hand. “Lea’ hi’ a’one. Alone.”

  “Why? When I’ve discovered the reason for your slow progress? I intend to ask his majesty to have this disloyal creature removed from your service. No wonder you’re not advancing.”

  “I am!” Neime was backing away. “You’re wron’. You ca’t re’ove him.”

  “I can and I shall. As your fiancé, I have the right to insist on your proper care.”

  Juimei drew himself up. “No’ my fi’nce yet, Mi’i. You go too fa’.”

  “Indeed? Perhaps it’s as well our betrothal has not been formalised. I thought you were prepared to work at this, your highness. Do you think I can bring a cripple home to my father’s estate? Do you think you’ll make a suitable mate, when you can’t conduct council business because of your speech impediment, and you can’t even walk the corridors of your own palace? Are you asking me to tie myself to someone like that?”

  “No,” Juimei said coldly, holding himself as straight as he could. “I’m no’. Ask’g.”

  “Then I’m not accepting. Not until you can walk to that door, and speak my name correctly. If you prefer the company of your servants to that of your peers, your highness, then that’s your choice. Good night.”

  “Wai’!” Juimei yelled, knowing if Miki walked out the door, he might never return. “P’ease. Mi’i. I’m so’y.”

  Neime moved away discreetly as Miki turned. “So am I.” He came back and knelt before Juimei’s chair. “I’m sorry, my love. I only want the best for you, and I get so impatient, so worried.... Forgive me.”

  Juimei stroked his cheek, making sure to use the hand that bore Miki’s ring. “I wi’ wa’k.” Damn it, if this was earlier in the day, his voice would be so much stronger. “A mon’h. Gi’ me a mon’h.”

  “As long as you need.” He looked up. “You mean to attend the feast after all?”

  “Yes. An’ an’ouce our betro’l.”

  “So be it.” He kissed Juimei’s hand. “I’ll try to contain my impatience.”

  “I lo’ you.”

  Miki rested his head on Juimei’s knee and Juimei patted his head, relieved beyond words that he’d been able to rein in this quarrel before it became fatal. Miki had a temper—they both did. His heart had died a little to hear such harsh words from his lover’s lips, and if it had been anyone else, he would have never forgiven them. But Miki was also right that Juimei wasn’t exactly a prize right now. He had to work harder to be a suitable mate—it wasn’t fair to tie Mikinze down to a cripple when that wasn’t what he’d agreed to.

  So the intense regime continued. The greatest improvement was in his speech—if he was well-rested, took his time and stayed calm, he could sound almost normal. He could stand and sit pretty well now without assistance, and had taken a couple of shuffling steps, but real walking seemed as far away as ever, which depressed him. He even thought he couldn’t face going to the feast because he was unable to walk there, but his mother dismissed that concern. “Just go in a litter. Councillor Feinorei broke his leg—you won’t be the only one who can’t walk, dear. You’re making too much of this, you know. It’s not something you need to be ashamed of.”

  He supposed she was right—Keraminze, who had been brought back to advise on his treatment after Juimei had dismissed healer Canzeigu, had been very pleased with his progress, and cautiously optimistic on her prognosis, but she said he was still looking at a very long recovery, which would almost certainly not be as complete as he might want. “But you’re doing very well, your highness,” she said. “Truly, your determination and willpower have wrought a miracle.”

  Not enough of a miracle, he feared, but to Miki, he presented a cheerful face as much as he could. Neime was the only one who knew his frequent despair and frustration, and who bore the brunt of occasional tantrums. Neime was the only one he could trust not to reject him on account of them. He had never felt so vulnerable in all his life, and wondered if Sephiz had done this to him to teach a lesson in humility. He was certainly getting one.

  Finally the deadline to which he’d been working so fiercely hard, arrived. He prepared himself with great attention to detail on the day of the feast—two hours of vocal exercises, a massage to help him relax, then a long nap, so he’d be at his best that evening. When he woke, he ate a light meal, and then Neime washed him carefully, shaving him and brushing his hair until it was sleek and glossy. He looked, he had to admit it, very fine in his new russet jacket, and the gold chain that had been a gift from Lekwinu
on his birthday. Of course, Miki’s ring was where it had been throughout, soon to be joined by a mate’s band. He had been practicing his announcement for days, weeding out all the words over which he was most likely to stumble, and forcing his disobedient mouth and tongue to work to their limits in his quest to sound as he used to. Neime had assured him that he was succeeding. He could only pray to Sephiz that Miki would think the same.

  At last, Neime was done. “Well?” he asked his page.

  “You look very handsome, Jui. More handsome than you usually do.”

  He smiled, relieved. “Flat-terer.”

  “It’s true. His grace should be here soon—shall I have the attendants bring the litter chair?”

  “No.” He still hated the idea of it, and wanted to put the moment off as long as possible. At least he should be able to stand long enough to get into the thing. Being carried like a child would be far too humiliating. “You get ready.”

  Neime’s preparations were far less tiresome, but he was still straightening his shirtsleeves when there was a knock at the door, rather earlier than they were expecting. Juimei sat up, trying to look as normal as he could. It was no longer as much of an effort to control his mouth as it had been—he had been horribly afraid he would start to drool if he lost concentration, but he now had fair use of his facial muscles.

  To his surprise, Neime led not Miki but his mother into the room. She was in new robes too, but then she had an entire household of people to make such things if she wished. She had very high standards.

  “Juimei, dear, you look very fine.”

  “Thank you,” he said accepting a kiss on the cheek. “Why are you here?”

  Solemn-faced, she sat, then took his hand. “There’s something I thought I ought to tell you about before the feast. I wasn’t sure if you knew about this already, but your father had a meeting with count Mikinze this afternoon. He wanted an announcement made about a betrothal.”

  “He did?” Juimei grinned. Miki was trying to upstage him? The little bastard.

  “Oh—so you know about it? I wasn’t sure.” She seemed relieved for some reason, which confused Juimei somewhat. “Your father said it took him quite by surprise.”

  “We were...going to tell you.”

  “You? Why would you tell us? Surely that would be the lady’s chore—or her parents’, I suppose.”

  “L...lady?” Juimei blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Neime came silently to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “What lady?”

  “Mikinze’s betrothed. Count Asinke’s sister—lady Wilonsui. I thought you knew about this.” She frowned. “Jui—you said there was nothing between you and Mikinze—”

  “There isn’t,” Juimei said coldly, his heart a stone in his chest. He struggled a little to remove Miki’s ring from his weaker hand, then gave it to Neime. “Take that and drop it in the mi’en. Midden. Now.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Neime slipped away with hesitation, and Juimei heard the door close. That left him staring at the wall, not meeting his mother’s puzzled look. “Mother, I...am unwell. I will...not...attend.”

  “Jui? Was there some understanding after all between you and the count? Your father could speak to him.”

  He raised his hand. “No. No un’erstanding. A mis-take. Mother, le-leave me a-lone. P’ease.”

  “Son, I’m sorry—by the benevolent god—”

  “The be’volent god has d-deserted me. Lea’ me. P’ease. Please.” He turned anguished eyes upon her. “Please go.”

  “But Neime...?”

  He stared at her silently until she shook her head and stood. “Son, I’m so sorry to have been the one to break this to you. Please don’t let it wear you down.” He didn’t answer, so she kissed his cheek and caressed it. “I’ll call in after the feast.”

  “Please do...not.”

  “As you wish. But I shall visit tomorrow.”

  He stayed stonily silent and she was forced to give up, finally leaving him alone. He felt so cold, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He didn’t know where to start to think about Miki’s actions, so he didn’t. He thought of nothing at all until, at last, Neime returned.

  His page lit some more candles, then came and knelt by his chair. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, laying his head on Juimei’s knee.

  “Me too. It’s over. All over.” Sephiz had already granted him the miracle of allowing him to live. He obviously didn’t deserve better than that.

  “All over,” he whispered.

  And so it surely was.

  Home Ground: 5

  One good thing about having Prijian friends, Wepizi thought fondly, was that they were easy to spot. Although the fact that his Prijian friend was waving madly from the deck of his ship, as were the other Darshianese, would probably have given a hint to a far duller mind than his. In minutes, the gangplanks were down and Karik and Romi rushed onto the docks, Karik’s golden hair a bright point of colour on an overcast day. Wepizi was familiar with their enthusiasm by now, and he grinned to see them.

  “Careful, my friends, you’ll trip and break an ankle, and then you’ll have to turn around and go back home.”

  “Not a chance,” Romi said, bowing, and then abandoning formality for a hug. “How are you, Wepizi?”

  “Very well—as you seem to be. Welcome back to Andon, Karik,” he said, embracing his friend enthusiastically, and then nodding to the rest of his team. “By Sephiz, you all look fit and well. It does my heart good to see you.”

  “It’d do my heart a lot more good to have some drizu and something to eat, Wepizi,” Karik said with a shiver—for all that spring had begun, Wepizi knew it must still feel very cold to the southerners. “Shall we?”

  Wepizi only had to give orders to his people about the Darshianese stores and baggage, then his friends shouldered their packs for the walk back to the barracks. “So tell me all your news. Karik, how are your brothers, and your daughters?”

  “All doing well—you really have to come to Darshek soon and meet them all.”

  Wepizi smiled. “I’d love to meet them, and I shall—but I have some news of my own to impart that might affect that plan.”

  That got them both very curious, but he insisted on saying nothing more about it until they were at the barracks and settled in. Instead, he wanted to hear about Karik’s family, and his and Romi’s visit to Kuprij and southern Darshian—both had gone very well, and Romi introduced Wepizi to two members of their team who had been recruited from the south. They managed to get a solid liaison set up there, Romi said, while the mission this year would further strengthen the Andonese side of things.

  Wepizi wished he was going with them, but he had received new orders. Over drizu and soup in his private quarters, he told them what he was doing.

  “The king and council want to strengthen the defence and army response in the eastern regions, so I’ve been ordered to take a team to Dizeindo in the Huoinevol district and set up new barracks there, enlarging the existing establishment, and creating a permanent outstation for the region. In a year or two, you can use it as a staging post—and for training too.”

  Karik frowned. “So you’re leaving Tsikiugui permanently? And you won’t be going on research missions? Wepizi, you’re important for our plans.”

  “You flatter me, my friend, but this is important too—and aids your plans, albeit indirectly. As for ‘permanently’—well, there’s no such thing in the army, as Romi will tell you.”

  “It’s all right, Karik,” Romi said. “Wepizi’s only been based in Tsikiugui for the last seven years. Officers of his rank move around a lot because the country needs their experience. You won’t be sorry to leave here, I imagine?” He shared a private, sad look with his friend.

  “Except that it means seeing you less often. But other than that, no, my friend, you’re correct. I’ve been rather restless after our mission together, and I could do with this challenge. Huoinevol district covers some inte
resting territory, and the soldiers I’ve encountered from there, have struck me as being good people. So no long faces, Karik—I’ll be here until your team leaves, and I’d be surprised if I didn’t see you again within a year or two. The Tuqul range and Mount Karvelino would bear close examination, I feel.”

  Karik brightened and turned to his lover. “He’s right, you know. It’s not well explored, and so far the mountainous plants have been by far the most fascinating. If we could set up a decent base there, we could really explore that area very carefully.”

  “So, you see, it’s not bad news after all,” Wepizi said cheerfully. “Now, what news of my friends Jou and Netu? And Sibu? What of her?”

  Romi’s team was due to spend a week in Tsikiugui, training and preparing, before they were to head west for four months. Wepizi would leave a few days after they did—he had to wait for soldiers travelling from Visiqe moving east with him. The idea of exploring the Huoinevol region took a strong hold in Karik’s mind and over the week they had together, in the evenings after they had all finished their separate tasks, he questioned Wepizi closely about what might be achieved, and what kind of establishment Wepizi was planning to set up. “A lot will depend on the governor, won’t it,” Romi said. “Is he interested in science and research?”

  Wepizi took a sip of drizu before answering, thinking about the matter. “My tezrei met Prince Juimei several years ago and says he’s an intelligent, open-minded man. More than that, I don’t know.”

  “A prince? Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Yes, though not unprecedented. He’s the youngest son of the king. Count Fiezenai who was the governor before, had no natural successor lined up, and his majesty appointed Prince Juimei to take over the district from him when his grace wanted to retire. I’ve never met him, but I’ve no reason to think he would be incompetent. Just because he’s royalty, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be interested in your work, Karik. I’m sure you could convince him of the merits even if he wasn’t.”