She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Then don’t, if it upsets you,” Wepizi said quickly, fearing to set Jozin off again. “Try the cheese, see if it agrees with you. Do you know it takes nearly a year to make a cheese of this type? I was talking to the dairy owner about it just the other day.”
Wittering on about nonsense helped her relax. It took only a little coaxing to persuade her, and not long after, Jozin, wiping his nose again, began to eat as well. Neime returned with the pot of tea, took his place without a word, and behaved as if there was nothing at all unusual. By the time Wepizi had finished his own food, and had poured himself a second cup of tea, colour had returned to the cheeks of both their guests, and though both were subdued, tears no longer threatened.
He and Juimei kept up a light, meaningless conversation about this and that, Neime joining in and keeping things at a calm, unthreatening level. Iome ate with better appetite, commenting shyly about the taste of the meal, which clearly included things she had never tried before, and responding willingly to Neime’s gentle conversation. Jozin slowly grew less tense, no longer holding himself as if he expected a blow, and he stopped scowling and sending suspicious looks at people every time someone asked Iome a question. He even went so far as to answer a couple of innocuous ones himself. Wonders would never cease.
Finally they had eaten and drunk their fill, and Neime cleared the trays and removed them for the house servant to collect.
“Now, we’ve arranged for you to sleep in here,” the prince said. “Wepizi, do you mind a bedroll? Neime can share with me, Jozin and Iome can have his bed, if you don’t mind. If you do, we’ll find somewhere for you.”
“A bedroll is what I’m used to. Jozin? Do you want to sleep in here?”
“On a bed?” Iome asked, eyes lighting up. “A real bed?”
“Certainly,” Juimei said, smiling a little. “I only ask the army to sleep on the floor, not pretty young ladies like yourself.”
She blushed a little at his words, then Neime led her over to his bed, and invited her to sit. “Joz, you have to try this, it’s wonderful!” she cried, falling back on it and hugging it. “So soft!”
“Stop messing around, Iome,” he muttered. “It’s fine,” he added ungraciously.
“Good,” Juimei said. “Neime can show you where you can wash, and my people have found you a set of clothes each. Wepizi, you can wash here, or with them, whichever suits you.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry if I sound...curt. I’m just tired.” He smiled self-deprecatingly at Jozin. “And my voice becomes much more peculiar when I’m tired, as you’ve probably noticed.”
Wepizi glanced at Jozin, staring at the floor, his cheeks looking rather pink.
“Um...sorry about what I said.” Juimei arched an eyebrow, and Neime, standing at a cupboard and fetching something, went still. Wepizi waited, and finally Jozin looked at the prince. “About your voice. Shouldn’t have been mean. You can’t help it.”
“No, I can’t.” Juimei walked over, limping heavily, which Wepizi had come to realise was also a sign of extreme fatigue. “But I very much appreciate your apology. No one’s ever bothered to do that before. No one’s really ever cared if they offended me over it.”
Jozin’s eyes widened. “Lots of people say stuff?”
“Yes, they do. Not all of it because they don’t understand. But you didn’t realise.”
“I just didn’t...how did it happen?”
Juimei limped over to one of the chairs, and waved Jozin to sit down himself. He leaned forward, his hands on his cane. “I used to play a game called doig-ito—do you know it?” Jozin shook his head. “Well, it’s very popular back where I come from, up in the mountains, in Visiqe. I was the captain of the Royal team—his majesty’s team. That’s my father, you see. So it was a great honour, and I always wanted us to win for that reason. I suppose I was rather vain about it,” he added, smiling again. Jozin smiled uncertainly back. “Anyway, there was a match which got a bit rough—both teams really shoving and pushing at each other. I don’t remember it because of what happened, but I’m told I was knocked off my mount by accident, and one of the doigs took fright and kicked me, here and here.”
He indicated the places on his skull. Jozin winced, and Iome, off to the side, made a small noise of distress. “When I woke up, I couldn’t move all my left side, or speak hardly a whisper. Thanks to Neime and a lot of patient care, I’ve got a lot better, but I’ll always speak oddly, limp somewhat. But before the accident, I was as fit and strong as you.”
“Why was your lover mean to you?” Iome asked.
Wepizi winced, mentally berating himself for the gaffe—he hadn’t thought the girl would mention it, and indeed, he hadn’t really thought that far when he made his explanation to them earlier.
But Juimei showed no sign of annoyance at his privacy being breached, though his mouth tightened as if in pain. “Well, for different reasons. Mainly because he wanted a partner who was as handsome and capable as he was, and he thought I would embarrass him. Then he met someone else he liked better.”
“And a damn good thing too,” Neime muttered. Juimei glanced up, not entirely pleased with the interruption. “Think about it, Juimei. What if you had bonded to that bastard? What would your life have been like?”
“Neime, that’s enough,” he said in a mild tone, though the flash in his eyes meant business. Neime gave him a defiant look, but said no more.
“He sounds awful,” Iome said. “Just because you got hurt, doesn’t mean he should leave you. That’s not what friends do. If Joz got hurt, I’d never leave him, like we’re not going to leave Laovei. We all help each other when one of us gets sick or injured.”
“A proper thing that is, too,” Wepizi said, trying to draw attention away from the prince who was now looking rather uncomfortable. “So, does that answer your question, Jozin?”
He nodded. “I guess. I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“Thank you, son. I appreciate that too,” Juimei said, smiling warmly, though it had to have cost him. He got slowly to his feet. “Now, Neime, why don’t you take Jozin and Iome to get cleaned up, and then we can all get the rest we need. Wepizi can keep me company for a bit.”
“Yes, Juimei,” Neime said meekly. Wepizi got the sense that master and page were not entirely pleased with each other right now, but in Juimei’s place, he’d not be too happy with Neime either.
Once they were alone, Wepizi cleared the table and chairs away, and spotted the comfortable-looking bedroll in the corner. At least he’d have a real pillow, and he’d slept in far worse places than on a clean floor in a warm room.
“If you want a bed, I’ll arrange one,” the prince said, walking over to one of the small armchairs, and levering himself down carefully.
“No, this is perfectly fine. Are you in pain?”
“My leg hurts. Often does when I’m tired. And I have a demon of a headache. Neime usually massages my neck but....”
“I could do something about that, if you like.”
Juimei looked up in surprise. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that for me. I’ll be fine. I just need to...try not to get so worked up about things I can’t fix.”
The wistful note plucked at Wepizi’s heart, and he felt the need to ease his companion’s sadness, even just a little. “I’ve rubbed more than a neck or two in my time.”
The prince shrugged. “If you feel you want to, I’ve not the energy to argue. But change out of your clothes—you must want to relax. Use the robe again.”
Wepizi was delighted to do so, and wash his face and hands with the water in the ewer on the side table. He needed more than that, but he was clean enough for now—and at least he wouldn’t have to climb back into his damn best-uniform on the morrow. Juimei looked at nothing, staring at his hands, resting on the cane, clearly absorbed in his thoughts—or the pain in his head, more likely.
As soon as he put his hands on Juimei’s neck, he realised the man
had to be in a lot more pain than Wepizi had realised by his demeanour—his neck was as tight as cordwood. But Karik and the medics on the Darshianese expedition had taught him a thing or two about therapeutic massage, so he set about his task with care, wanting to ease a little of the suffering surrounded him, using Juimei as a surrogate for those people he had not been able to help and comfort today, like poor Frisenze.
Juimei dropped his head and sighed as Wepizi carefully used his thumbs to dig into the impossibly tight tendons and muscles at his neck. “By Sephiz, that’s good. Sorry to impose.”
“Not at all. As Iome said, we should all help each other, don’t you think?”
The prince said nothing for a few moments, and Wepizi feared he’d caused offence. But then Juimei unclenched his hands, and relaxed.
“Please excuse Neime’s brashness. He took my former lover’s defection nearly as hard as I did, only for different reasons.”
“He didn’t think he was good enough for you?”
“That obvious, is it? Ah, yes...oh, that’s good...you have the hands of a god, Wepizi.”
“Prijian or Darshianese?”
“Ah...Prijian...the Darshianese ones don’t have hands.” Wepizi chuckled at the remark. “Or anything. I believe, anyway. No, Neime disapproved of him even before. Ironic, that he was proved so right in his judgement, and it took the accident to make me realise. I don’t suppose you ever had a lover break your heart like that.”
“No, I’ve been lucky. I had a few romances, summer things, where I fancied myself falling in love. But once I met Lema, I knew...and then there was no one else for either of us. Until she died, and broke my heart forever.”
Juimei didn’t respond. Wepizi kept up the massage as carefully as ever, but inside couldn’t help be a little hurt that his own troubles—what had the man called them, his ‘domestic misfortunes’?—had caused so little reaction.
But he had misjudged the prince, for he straightened a little, then spoke. “I’ve learned more about your wife today than I have in the last month. I’m ashamed I’ve given you so much cause to distrust me. No wonder you can reach these children in their sorrow, when I can’t.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I think opening yourself to Jozin like that took a considerable amount of bravery. I was moved very much, and, I think, so was he.”
Juimei waved his hand dismissively. “I should get over it, don’t you think? I lost a faithless, ambitious man whose only interest in me was to advance himself at court. When I looked like I would cease to have any role to play there, he scampered off, found himself a courtier’s sister and married her with indecent haste. Neime knew he was worthless. I have only myself to blame for not listening to his advice.”
From this position, Wepizi couldn’t see Juimei’s face, but his tone was bitter enough to imagine his feelings. “You think he never loved you?”
“Perhaps he fancied himself in love at some point. I thought I loved him. But if even a child at such a distance can see that it wasn’t real, then I was a fool to have deluded myself so. Nothing like losing a kind and loving spouse. All that really suffered was my pride.”
Wepizi worked on Juimei’s shoulders, and tried to impart comfort as well as relief through his fingertips. “If that was all it was,” he said gently, “then it wouldn’t hurt so much after all this time. You mind the mockery of the children because it reminds you of what he did, and if it was a minor slight, then you wouldn’t be in such pain from stress now. Your lover did you harm, and that was wrong. He abandoned you, and that’s very hard to forgive, for even if he didn’t love you, he could have offered you friendship.”
The prince gave out a short, harsh laugh. “Friendship? He had no use for me as a friend. He wanted to be the king’s bond-son, if he could not be his son-in-law. Now he’s got himself a place on the council and leads the pack there. He spends all his time denigrating me and my work in this region, so my brother’s wife tells me. To think I used to imagine I would teach him how to play ice-ito, and dream of all the fun we’d have together. Neime’s right—if I’d bonded to him, I’d be even more miserable and pathetic than I am now. So it was a lucky escape, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But a painful one, nonetheless. You offered your pain to Jozin tonight, to ease his, to help explain his. I was proud to witness such generosity, your highness.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” the prince muttered.
“I’m not.” Juimei only grunted, which Wepizi took as a sign that he should shut up and continue the massage. Juimei seemed to benefit—at least, his neck felt less rigid. “How’s the headache?”
“Improving, thank you. Neime has magical hands, but you’re not too shabby. I’ll keep you as my second string.”
Wepizi essayed an ironic bow behind the prince. “Deeply honoured, your highness.”
“Hmpf.” He reached behind his head and touched Wepizi’s hand. “Thank you, enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just sit, rest.”
Wepizi did so, sitting on the other little armchair. The prince stretched his leg, but from his expression, he was in far less pain than before the massage.
“No point in going to bed until they return, but if you want to read or....” Juimei cast his gaze around the room. “Not sure what else I can offer you.” He flushed suddenly, as if aware that his words might have another meaning. “Uh, I mean...I’m usually only in here to change or to sleep.”
“I’m too tired to do much of anything, really.”
Wepizi began to absentmindedly play with his moustache, which was now in a pitiful state, and wondered if his shaving kit had been retrieved along with his uniform. But then he recalled his moustache aroused unpleasant memories for the prince, so made himself stop. Juimei looked at him oddly.
“Sorry, I fiddle with it out of habit.”
“What? Oh—I wasn’t...please, play with your pet, if you need to. It’s probably lonely.” Wepizi chuckled. “No...I was thinking, you probably still haven’t really forgiven me for my nasty remark, and I wondered how I could ever rehabilitate myself in your eyes.”
Wepizi started—it really had slipped his mind. “Truly, it’s forgiven, and you’ve more than made up for your former offences even with what you’ve done tonight. If Sephiz allows a sinner to repent, then who am I to deny it?”
“But then I’m the worst kind of sinner, because I deny Sephiz’s authority, Wepizi. There’s no hope for me.”
Wepizi shook his head, and gave the prince a wry smile. “There’s hope for everyone. You’ll have to try a lot harder to convince me you’re irredeemable—not,” he added hastily, “that I’m daring you to.”
The prince’s lips quirked in an almost smile. “My life’s ambitions, fortunately, don’t run that way.”
“How do they run, if it’s not an impertinent question?”
“It is, but I’ll allow it. They’re nothing much. I want to see Neime settled safely. I want this town to rise again, of course.”
“Nothing for yourself,? What do you want for you?”
The prince gave him a hard look, and Wepizi thought he had gone too far. “Why should you care?”
“Why should I not?”
Juimei seemed rather taken aback. “Do you care about the personal ambitions of all the governors you’ve worked under?”
“Not especially, but then I don’t usually sit in their bedrooms wearing their clothes either. But if it offends you....”
“It doesn’t, I just...want so many things. Impossible things. Things that don’t matter at all compared to what’s going on out there.” Wepizi’s steady gaze seemed to frustrate him. “I want to be able to talk...without people having to find excuses for me. I want to be able to ride, ride fast and hard, and not need help. I want...I want to be able to dance, Wepizi. I used to be such a good dancer.... Like I said, stupid, impossible things. Better to concentrate on what I can do. Like help rebuild this mess.” He laughed humourlessly. “I guess what I w
ant most of all is to stop wanting. Being plagued by what I used to be able to do, is worse than not being able to do the things in the first place.”
“It’s hard not to want what gave you so much pleasure. It’s why we grieve, because we want that happiness again.”
Juimei looked at him almost in despair. “But I can never have them—am I condemned to grieve forever?”
“I hope not. I’d hope in time you’ll find things that will give you even more pleasure. I don’t know you well, but it seems to me you’re on your way to that. Just give it time.”
“But what about you?”
“I beg your pardon?” He must be more tired than he thought he was, for the question made no sense.
“You—you grieve also, but you seem to think there’s no answer for you, no end to it. Why do you offer me hope, but deny it to yourself?”
Wepizi made himself smile, but inside, his heart ached like the wound was freshly made. “Ah, see—the answer to my pain, is for my beloved to come back to life. You’ll dance again, your highness, far sooner than I’ll fall in love. There’s no substitute for my wife.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, I uh....”
Juimei waved his hand in polite dismissal. “No, I’m the one to apologise. Let’s speak of it no more. But Wepizi—I’m truly sorry for your loss. Profoundly so.”
“Thank you. I’m...getting better. I really am.”
The prince gave him a sad smile. “As am I, but we’ll always bear the marks.”
“Yes, we will. It’s that process we call life that does it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then grimaced at the state of his hand. “I’m filthy.”
“Ah, my failure as a host. If you tug on that bellpull, someone will come and they can show you where they’re letting people bathe. If it were just us again, I’d suggest here, but with the others coming back....”
“No, I’ll find the washroom. You can manage?”
“For the length of a bath? I must really look decrepit.”
Wepizi chuckled, then rang the bell. Whether the prince realised it or not, he was getting over his pain, however slowly.
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 45