Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  Wepizi relaxed. The prince had come a long way since Wepizi’s first encounter with him, physically and emotionally. Wepizi sometimes worried it was only a temporary improvement, but it seemed Juimei really had grown and changed. Even if he didn’t believe in Sephiz’s benevolence, their prince had received it in abundance, at least of late.

  Laovei was entranced by the music, and Neime was entranced watching her. So sweet together, Wepizi thought, and found Juimei looking at him, clearly thinking the same thing. He was glad Juimei was taking this well—he’d been afraid the prince might be jealous or afraid of losing Neime, but from everything he’d seen, Juimei had been nothing but kind and encouraging, not just to Laovei, but to all the Blessed. Even shy Giwade was coming out of his shell, and had confessed that he now quite liked being around Juimei, who gave him the occasional lesson in Andonese history and government when both had time.

  Yes, Juimei was thriving just as much as young Iome or Giwade, and Wepizi was glad to have seen it. Glad, when he would have never believed it possible, to be proved so profoundly wrong. Glad, when he’d least expected it, to have found another true friend. Even if this friend looked like he would leave as Romi had done. Still, at least both were alive, and that meant it was always possible he would see them again. He would miss Juimei though. He wished the prince wasn’t so set on going. Even understanding the reasons, he still found it a great pity.

  But he didn’t want to ruin this happy occasion with sad thoughts. He’d debated whether to get up and move around to meet people, but it seemed a bit ungracious to invite the prince and then abandon him. In the end, it hardly mattered—people came up to chat, his friends and people who had come to know Juimei. Several children dragged their parents over to talk to him, and he spoke gravely to each one, enquiring after their health and schooling and whether they liked their new accommodation or not. The Blessed came over too, and Giwade decided he wanted to sit with them, squeezing in between Laovei and Juimei.

  “This is nice,” he said firmly. “Everyone’s so happy.”

  No one could make that statement more authoritatively than him, Wepizi thought.

  “Wepizi, it’s getting dark,” Kilinze said. “Should I light things up?”

  “Yes, please—but discreetly. No big fireballs,” he said sternly.

  But Kilinze could be taught, for though he grinned in the same cocksure way as ever, there was no dramatic illumination. Instead, high above them, a thousand tiny lights appeared, slowly brightening, so delicate that it was several minutes before people noticed them. When they did, there were oohs and aahs of appreciation, and much delighted pointing up at the sky, but no panic or terror.

  “Well done,” Juimei murmured. “Very lovely, Kilinze.” The boy smiled happily at the rare praise.

  The yard was now as bright as early twilight, removing the need for candles and lamps, though a couple were lit near the serving tables. The singing was still going on, and the musicians seemed to have an endless repertoire, for they had played for nearly two hours without repeating themselves. People drifted off, but the yard was still crowded, still cheerful. Wepizi suspected once all the food and drink had run out, it would end quite naturally, but he was in no hurry to order things to a premature close. This was important for everyone, townsfolk and soldiers alike.

  And the Blessed too. He grinned, watching Jozin talking with Tovoi, clearly getting passionate, Tovoi listening to him and inciting him to greater enthusiasm—Jozin had become great friends with Wepizi’s senior lep, and had even talked about joining the army in the regular fashion, though Wepizi had his doubts as to whether that was such a good idea or if his majesty would permit it. Tovoi continued to counsel patience, on Wepizi’s instructions—so far, Jozin enjoyed the comradeship and fulfilment of his new role, and it was good to see.

  A sprightly tune struck up, a dancing tune, and it was taken up at first by just two couples, but very quickly by a dozen or more, forming a circle. Another circle was rapidly formed by laughing friends dragging others into the space being cleared by the crowd, and then another. It was a progressive dance, partners being handed around not just within the circle but also between them. “That looks complicated,” Giwade said gravely.

  “It looks fun,” Laovei said with a wistful tone. Neime squeezed her hand.

  “It is,” Juimei agreed, just as wistfully. Wepizi glanced at him, and found him looking at the dancers with the same longing as Laovei. He recalled a conversation a long time ago about things that could not be again, things Juimei desperately wanted to do again—and remembered dancing had been near the top of that list. Wepizi had tried to give him some of those things—but this, this he could not give him. Juimei really wouldn’t ever dance with this ease and agility again, just as Laovei would not. All the kindness and patience in the world wouldn’t change that.

  He found himself wanting to take Juimei’s hand in comfort, the way Neime had with Laovei, and stopped himself with a jerk. Such a gesture could never be taken as anything but an advance, and it wasn’t fair to....

  His thoughts suddenly ground to a halt. Not fair to.... He looked at Neime, then the prince, then across the dancers to Iome talking to one of the medics, and the clues Nuveize had said were there all along suddenly became as easily seen as Kilinze’s pretty firelights.

  It wasn’t fair—because he couldn’t follow through. And Juimei had known he couldn’t follow through, and couldn’t bear...to be tantalised. Couldn’t bear the similitude of physical affection...from someone he might....

  “Be attracted to? At last, you’ve worked it out. Took you long enough.”

  Wepizi jumped, then gave Nuveize a reproachful look. “So I’m right? It’s not the touching, it’s who is touching? Iome is safe, not me and not Neime?”

  “Neime reminds him of you, and you remind him of that horrible man. It doesn’t have to be that way, Wepizi.”

  “I never intended....” Wepizi thought back to the original conflict with the prince, the strange change of mood—and realised the timing meant it had to have been that massage which had caused it. Juimei...had become aroused? And so had tried to push him away, with disastrous consequences. “Something so innocent caused so much pain?”

  “Not entirely, but a large part of it. You’ve been the same, only you don’t realise it. You’re both starving, while a banquet is sitting there under your nose.”

  “I don’t want another lover.”

  “Neither does he, not consciously. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t need someone. You’re both driving me insane, watching you.”

  “You don’t want another lover either.”

  “Did I say that? The difference for me is that I don’t have someone I desire almost sitting in my lap.”

  Wepizi jerked again, as he realised he was indeed sitting rather close to the prince. Fortunately, Juimei was absorbed in watching the dancers, a sad smile on his face, and hadn’t noticed his reaction. “I don’t desire him.”

  “No, of course not. Driving me mad, like I said. But now you know why he has to hold back. You’re both pleasure and pain for him.”

  “More pain than pleasure?”

  She gave him a pitying look. “And you think yourself a clever man. I despair of you, I really do.”

  “Is something wrong, Wepizi?”

  He blinked and then smiled reassuringly at Juimei, obviously worried by his vacant expression. “I was just thinking how much Lema would have enjoyed this,” he said, the lie becoming the truth as he uttered it. “She was always involved in barrack celebrations and parties.”

  The prince’s face clouded just briefly. “I’m sorry it’s bringing back sad memories.”

  “Not sad at all.”

  “Then I’m glad you have happy ones.” He glanced back at the dancing couples. “I wonder if I could leave discreetly without disrupting things? I could just walk back—Neime, you can stay if you want.”

  The lad shook his head. “I should....”

  “Neime
, I’d like to stay,” Nuveize said quickly. “Just a while longer? For Giwade and Kilinze?”

  “Yes, stay,” Juimei urged. “I’m just a little tired, Neime, there’s no need to fuss. Wepizi, I’ll be fine if you ask one of your people to walk me back.”

  Wepizi held up his hand. “No, I can’t allow that, your highness. I brought you, I’m taking you home.”

  Juimei shrugged, but he didn’t look displeased. “As you insist. Don’t rush back, Neime. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Wepizi waited for the prince to get up, then took his arm. “If we go this way, no one will notice,” he said.

  Juimei told him to lead on, and by keeping to the very edge of the assembly, they made their escape. And then Wepizi had to run back for a lamp, because Kilinze’s convenient light balls made him forget it was still night time.

  “How quickly we get used to them,” Juimei said when he returned.

  “Yes, it’s strange how we adjust. It was a pretty effect, though.”

  “Most lovely. If he’d stick to doing that kind of thing, we wouldn’t have a problem. I still dread the idea that he might get into a schoolyard fight with another child and set fire to them.”

  They walked towards the town gates. Once Wepizi would have ordered a cart for them, or doigs at least, but the prince’s stamina was so much better, he could manage a gentle twenty-minute walk quite easily. Juimei wasn’t that tired—and then thought wryly it said something that he could know that—so it had to be that he found the party a strain. “I’m sorry the dancing reminded you of things.”

  Juimei dismissed his concern. “So much does. It’s not like the governor could just throw himself into one of the circles without making it awkward. It’s different at court, among my peers.”

  Wepizi hadn’t thought of that. “It would make any socialising difficult, outside the court.”

  “Quite. Fortunately, I have people around me who don’t pay me the slightest bit of respect, so I don’t have to worry about inhibiting them.”

  Wepizi grinned at that, knowing to what he referred. “I think there’s respect for you—Nuveize’s just not overawed by your position or your lineage.”

  Juimei smiled a little. “Neither are you. You’re just more polite about it.”

  “I could try to be ruder, if you’d prefer it. I don’t know that it would suit me.”

  “It wouldn’t. I like you the way you are. Besides, one Nuveize is nearly one too many.”

  “You realise she can hear you, don’t you?”

  A flash of white, perfect teeth. “Oh yes.”

  Wepizi smiled back, but inside, he wondered how long he could maintain this easy friendship with the man, knowing what he did now. How much of Juimei’s friendliness was sublimated desire? How much of his own was? He strove always to be honest with people, and not to promise more than he could give. Was he, however unconsciously, encouraging the prince to think there was something more than there was? Or was their friendship only possible because the prince assumed there would never be more?

  He found it hard to be grateful for his new awareness. He’d been so happy he had repaired what he’d thought irretrievable, and so pleased at how a little kindness and attention had been repaid a hundred-fold. Watching Juimei get his confidence back, his health back, and seeing him become more like the man he must have been before he was hurt, had been so rewarding, Wepizi hadn’t stopped to think why he took such an interest in him.

  Juimei was completely unaware of his inner turmoil. He was in a subdued but not depressed mood—perhaps he really was a little tired, as he said.

  “How do you think we should have this memorial designed?”

  Wepizi shook himself. “Uh...I don’t really know. It should be something special.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. Perhaps a competition among the townsfolk? To make them feel that it’s really theirs? I’d suggest it was paid for by public subscription for that reason, but under the circumstances, people probably can’t afford that. What do you think?”

  “A competition sounds an excellent idea. If you give people the winter to consider it, we could begin in the spring—plant a garden around the graves, proper railings and so on.”

  “Yes. I know it’s not inside the town walls, but in a way it’s nice that it looks towards the open plains—it’s a place of serenity, freedom. I think it will give people a place to focus their grief. I hope so. Do you...?” His question trailed off, and he looked away.

  “Jui?”

  “Sorry, I was about to be horribly crass. Ignore me.”

  They walked on, Wepizi holding the lamp so to give Juimei the clearest view of the road.

  “You were going to ask about Lema, weren’t you?”

  Juimei stopped. “Yes—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Wepizi smiled, though his heart ached. “What did you want to know?”

  “I...just wondered how you felt being so far from where she’s buried. Having nowhere to sit and weep for her.”

  “Her body doesn’t matter, while I carry her in my heart. And I can sit and weep anywhere.” Even now he felt tears pricking at his eyelids. “All too easily,” he whispered.

  Juimei put his hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. Here, let me....” He took the lamp from Wepizi, then bent and set it down. “Just take a moment.”

  Wepizi scrubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry...it just...very unexpectedly sometimes....”

  He covered his face, embarrassed by the sudden rush of emotion—how could the simple thought of Lema’s grave set him off like this, when he’d been thinking of something else entirely?

  Juimei waited quietly, his hand on Wepizi’s arm, patient and silently sympathetic. Wepizi felt dreadful for inflicting this display on him—it wasn’t as if this was a fresh grief, to excuse sobbing in the street like a child. And yet the tears would not stop, and he could not force himself to calm down. He hadn’t felt like this in months.

  “Here,” Juimei murmured, passing him his own handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologise for. It’s I who should apologise for mentioning it. I should have realised it would hurt this much.”

  Wepizi let out a choked laugh. “How could you when I didn’t?” He wiped his face again. “I’m all right now.” The wobble in his voice made a liar out of him, but he bent to collect the lamp anyway. “Let’s get you home.”

  A hand on his shoulder, quietly comforting. “Take your time.”

  Wepizi nodded, and then lifted the lamp. He walked on without speaking, not trusting his voice. Juimei fell into step with him, and they headed through the town gates.

  One of Wepizi’s soldiers standing on guard, bowed and hailed them as they got to the wall. “Good evening, your highness, tezrei. Do you want me to find you a cart?”

  “Uh, your highness?” Wepizi asked.

  “I’m fine walking, but if you want to...?”

  “No, let’s carry on.” Wepizi just wanted to get Juimei back to his home so he could go and find a quiet place to think—it would take more time than he had patience for, to fetch a cart. “Thank you, groi.”

  She saluted smartly, and they moved on. The street was quiet—those who hadn’t stayed on for the celebration were indoors, getting their supper. The scent of wood smoke and cooking filled the cool night air. “Hmmm, that’s making me hungry,” Juimei said. “Ah—I wonder if you’d like to have supper with me? I daresay you’ll have a struggle to find anything back at the barracks.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not really that hungry.”

  Juimei glanced at him, but said nothing. Wepizi was glad of the tact.

  They reached the residence just in time to hear the third quarter being tolled on the town hall bell. Juimei’s butler was amazing—he always knew when to appear, despite the complete lack of warning.

  “Welcome back, your highness, tezrei,” he said with his usual beaming smil
e. “Will you be wanting your supper now, your highness?”

  “Yes, Gimoz, I would.” He cleared his throat, seemed rather hesitant. “Wepizi...if you don’t want company, I’m sure Cook would make you a parcel, or you could eat in the kitchen....”

  Wepizi raised his hand to stop him, realising he had made Juimei think it was his company which was the problem. Now he’d calmed a little, he didn’t want to cause offence when the prince had been perfectly kind, and he should eat, he knew that. Supper would do no harm.

  “No, if you don’t object, I’d like to change my mind.”

  Juimei smiled, obviously relieved as well as pleased. “Then come along—I won’t detain you unnecessarily.”

  Wepizi allowed himself to be led to Juimei’s rooms, still not really feeling like talking or company, but unwilling to cause a fuss. His grief was something he had to put back in his private thoughts—and the other...well, that too, was best left hidden. If Juimei was assiduously ignoring his own feelings, then Wepizi could do that too. There was no way of broaching the subject without opening it up irrevocably, and Wepizi just wasn’t ready—would never be ready—to contemplate another relationship. Certainly not with a man determined to leave Dizeindo as soon as winter passed.

  He should stop thinking about this. Nuveize might have thought she was helping, but though he respected her and liked her a great deal, her experience was very limited. He wasn’t a callow youth, to be swayed by someone’s admiration—or his own. He was a senior officer, a widower, someone who had to think about the implications. Just because Juimei might be harbouring some kind of desire towards him (and he only had her word for that), didn’t mean acting on them wouldn’t be a very bad idea. The prince had clearly come to the same conclusion. He was, after all, a very sensible, practical man, just like Wepizi considered himself to be.

  Juimei’s elegant bedroom was a lot emptier than Wepizi remembered it. The prince noticed his look. “We’ve been able to put things back,” he explained. “The residence is far less crowded than it was—but we could squeeze people in here again, if need be. Any soldiers sleeping in tents over the winter, could come here.”