Wepizi shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. If you wish it not to be too political, I can send one of my subordinates along.”
Juimei nearly agreed that he should, because it was all Frankel and his cronies deserved, but then thought about how Neime was looking forward to taking his beloved Laovei to this event, which he couldn’t do if Juimei didn’t go.
“No...unless you’d rather not. And if you’re going, I can make myself sit through it. I refuse to make a speech though. I won’t bless the man’s incumbency. It’s not my job.”
“No, of course not.”
“You don’t...mind if I go, do you?”
Wepizi blinked. “Why should I?”
“I just thought...perhaps you might feel you have to attend me or something if you do. You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“No,” Wepizi said gruffly. “I know I don’t.” He shuffled a little and then said, “Ah...if we’re done, I recall I promised to call in on one of our men’s homes. His wife’s sick.”
The excuse sounded a little too convenient, but he could hardly call the man a liar to his face. “No, please don’t let me detain you. Thank you for coming by.”
Wepizi bowed and left. Juimei rubbed his forehead—what had he said? What had he not said? By Sephiz, it had been a lot easier when he was a misanthropic coward, hiding away from everyone.
As in Visiqe, the winter feast was cause for much quiet excitement among the prospective guests. New clothes had to be made and adorned, hair cut, beards trimmed or shaved off, and shoes mended or polished. Juimei endured Neime’s flitting about on the arrangements up to a point, but then put his foot down.
“No. Enough. Honestly, Neime, no one will give the slightest damn if I’m in a red jacket or the green. Go help your darling, if you’re so lacking in things to do.”
“She shooed me away,” Neime said with a pout. “She’s got Nuveize and Iome helping her anyway. I’m not needed.”
Juimei tried and failed not to smile at his page’s disconsolate air. Neime did love dressing people. “Well, they need their fun too. I wish I was like Wepizi. He can get away with his uniform regardless of circumstance, and he looks fine in it too.”
“Yes, he does. He’s the only man I know who can carry that moustache off.”
Juimei knew that was a dig at Mikinze, a slightly unfair one since Miki was more handsome (a little, at least) than Wepizi, even if his soul was infinitely darker.
“Yes, I’ve got used to it. Hard to imagine him without it, really. I’ll miss it.”
“Just the moustache?” Neime asked innocently.
“No, not just the moustache,” he said, giving his friend a quelling look. “Run along, lad. Feast or no feast, we still have a district to run.”
Neime obeyed. But Juimei didn’t follow his own advice. Instead, he sat down at his bedroom desk, and rested his chin on his hand. Strange how that moustache no longer reminded him of Miki in the least. Now when he thought of the thing, it was Wepizi who came to mind. In fact, he had to struggle to remember exactly what Miki looked like, and it wasn’t a struggle he was often inclined to make. He guessed he was finally over that heartbreak. Not that it mattered since he was unlikely to take another lover, so the state of his romantic feelings didn’t really come into it. Whatever those romantic feelings were.
Come the night of the feast, they all assembled in the main hall, and Juimei thought they made a most distinguished group. Neime was in severest black, brightened by gold brocade at collar and cuffs—he looked very regal, and his princess, in flowing cream and green, an elegant companion. With the bright look of love in her eyes, no one would pay attention to the crutch or what it meant, her false foot concealed by shoe and trousers.
The others were smart as well—Wepizi, naturally, in best-uniform, his sword and buttons gleaming like mirrors, the moustache waxed to knife blade perfection. Giwade was grown up and solemn in brown, and Iome and Helinoa surprisingly pretty in matching outfits distinguished only by different coloured jackets. Jozin, his hair cut short in army fashion, and dressed in a set of Juimei’s own clothes, looked dashing, and bound to turn a few girlish heads that night. Even Kilinze looked quite innocent and tidy for a change, though his grin revealed suppressed excitement Juimei hoped wouldn’t lead him to do anything silly. None of them would have looked the least out of place at court—although they certainly formed the most unusual retinue in the whole of Andon.
There was a brief spirited dispute among the Blessed about how they would all travel the short distance between the residence and the square. Kilinze wanted to go by sled, of course—he’d fallen in love with that means of travel, and would beg prettily for a ride from anyone he could. It had become a most effective bribe for good behaviour, but Juimei thought it hardly practical for all of them. Jozin said he would just take them all.
“Boring,” Kilinze declared. “Joz, we fly all the time.”
Wepizi, who’d been listening to the argument in polite, if amused, silence, grinned behind his hand. “Who’d ever have thought one could become bored by flying?” he whispered to Juimei.
Neime clapped his hands decisively. “No, Kilinze, the sled is too much trouble for the stable master at night. Besides, it’s too damn cold. Jozin, please, you take charge.”
“Spoken like a perfect little liaison,” Juimei murmured, but when Neime turned to him with a guilty look, he waved at him to calm down. “In all seriousness. But anyway, as governor, I decree that the dignity of my office demands flight. It’ll impress those bastards, anyway.”
“Language, your highness. And in front of the children too,” Nuveize said.
She looked quite splendid in an embroidered blue jacket and something elaborate and bejewelled stuck in her grey hair. The sarcastic tone was unchanged though, and Juimei merely quirked an eyebrow at her. As if she didn’t say worse and more often.
“I’m hungry,” Kilinze whined. “If we have to go with boring old Joz, can we go now?”
“You’ll stay behind, my lad,” Nuveize said, wagging her finger at him. “You behave tonight or no more parties for you. Ever. Right, your highness?”
“Oh certainly. No more sled rides either. But be good, Kilinze and I’ll arrange those skating lessons you wanted.”
The boy cheered and eagerly promised to behave himself. “But can’t we go now?”
There was no need for delay, and no more preparation wanted than to simply go outside and be lifted up as lightly as the falling snowflakes, carried silently over the rooftops of the darkened town, towards the over-bright presence of the mayor’s house. Even used as the townsfolk were to the actions of the Blessed, there was still a good bit of wide-eyed awe from the doorkeepers as Jozin brought them down to land on the carefully swept entrance to the house. The outer gear was shed and respectfully taken away, and shoes changed for indoor slippers. Then Juimei took Nuveize’s arm, Wepizi, young Iome’s and they processed in. There were over a hundred guests already present, and all bowed low as Juimei entered the grand foyer.
Grand—palatial was the word. Every sconce and lamp holder was ablaze with candles, a huge chandelier hung from the high, ornate ceiling, and burnished metal and polished wood and tiles and mirrors were everywhere, catching the points of light and multiplying them like little suns. Guests in their best clothes and glittering gems stood like elaborate ornaments on the long stairs, or on a ground floor covered by expensive rugs. They held wine in crystal glasses that scintillated and reflected multicoloured light—everything he looked at, sparkled almost painfully bright.
Juimei hadn’t been expecting anything like this. He’d never been inside this building, and had no idea how lavish it was. It predated Gixiel by a good forty years, so the former mayor could not be blamed for the excess, but Juimei thought someone along the line of succession had delusions of grandeur far exceeding the importance of the mayoral role. It far exceeded even the governor’s own magnificence. Perhaps a mayor in times past had had aspirations for the higher office.
“Ah, welcome, welcome, your highness, tezrei, all of you. Blessings upon all of you this night,” Frankel said, bowing with a flourish that would have been tittered over even at highest court for its extravagance.
Juimei returned it with a somewhat less elaborate bow of his own. “Thank you, your honour. You know everyone, I believe.”
“Yes, of course. Welcome, Nuveize,” he said, surprising Juimei with the personal address to his companion. “Perhaps his highness would allow me to...?”
Juimei could only blink in shock as the man stepped up and offered his arm to her, which she graciously accepted.
“What’s going on?” he demanded of Nuveize, now firmly in Frankel’s possessive clasp.
“Hush. He thinks I’ll be his second wife and make him rich.”
“And will you?”
“Perhaps. If you don’t offer first.”
Juimei forced himself to smile since Frankel was looking at him. “You’re a dreadful woman, you know that?”
“Yes, I really am. Come on, your arseness. You have to go in first, being nearly king.”
He growled at her in his mind, but kept smiling, allowing Frankel to move him ahead of their party. The other guests had gone into the dining room, so all they had to do was allow his servants to formally announce his arrival, and then he stepped through the heavy doors to receive the welcome.
The reception was almost overwhelming, even though he’d once more grown used to being cheered and welcomed by large gatherings. Somehow, it was so much louder and more intense and...bright. How the mayor, past or present, could afford this many damn candles, Juimei had no idea. He forced himself to stop thinking about expenses and to acknowledge the genuine enthusiasm of the guests—not all of whom were elders or senior townsfolk. He saw Wepizi’s leps, and some of the market traders, and there were even some older children here, dressed in the smartest clothes their families could procure for them, even with all that had happened that year.
Juimei smiled and bowed and let the cheering wash over him. Even though he knew it was for the king he represented and not for himself, it was a bittersweet reminder of his glory days. The pain, however, was almost entirely gone.
Frankel conducted him to the high table, along with Wepizi and the Blessed. Nuveize was seated at his left side—Juimei still had difficulty believing the elderly and none too prepossessing mayor was making a play for their spiky, albeit attractive Blessed.
“Attractive? Why, your highness—are you proposing to propose?”
He smiled sweetly at her, hoping there was someone looking his way she could use as eyes. “Not if you were the last person left on earth, dear. I like my prick right where it is—between my legs. You’d shear it off, you’re so sharp.”
She put her hand over her breast as if deeply wounded. “So unkind. You’re only driving me into his arms, you know.”
“He’s welcome to you. He can pay your bills then.”
She pinged him, but only for form’s sake. He rubbed his head where she’d ‘got’ him, and Wepizi murmured, “Something amiss, your highness?”
“I’ll tell you later. I think you might find it amusing.”
Fruit wine was served in small, elegant glasses, and the health of his majesty and council solemnly toasted before the elders rose and approached the high table to conduct the official business of the evening. The inauguration oath itself was a simple matter, and only required Frankel to swear that he would serve the town as mayor honestly and completely while he was in office, and the elders to confirm his oath and accept him on behalf of the population, which they did to much acclaim. Then, despite his earlier promise and because it was so obviously expected, Juimei made a short speech congratulating the mayor and thanking him for his welcome.
As he sat down after the applause died, he muttered to Wepizi, “And that’s that.”
“I’m sure it’s appreciated. I hate to sound like our young friend, but I’m hungry too. I hope they bring the food soon.”
Wepizi got his wish, and they discovered Frankel was as generous in his hospitality as he was extravagant in his lighting. The range and volume of dishes was astonishing, especially considering they had only come off emergency status a bare month before.
“This would horrify my mother,” Juimei muttered, bending as if to examine a particularly fascinating vegetable in his soup. “And she’s not exactly famous for reining in her tendency to overdo things.”
“It’s only once a year,” Wepizi said, just as discreetly. “I see no harm in it, especially when things have been lean. His honour’s been generous to those who’ve suffered most, and he’s offered work and financial assistance to those who’ve lost livelihoods.”
Juimei turned to him. “Frankel has? I never thought...ah—he’s currying favour?”
Wepizi only shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he realises he’ll need these people and their abilities later, so he needs to help them now. He’s not as...rigid...as Mayor Gixiel.”
“No.”
Juimei looked at their new mayor with renewed interest. Certainly not a stupid man, and capable of forward thinking. Juimei could work with someone like that. Or his successor could.
He forced his mind off that track, because it would make him gloomy and it was too happy an occasion for that. In fact, this was turning out not to be too painful an evening at all. The food was good, he was in his preferred company, Frankel didn’t expect him to contribute anything but his actual presence, and Kilinze was actually behaving. And he had to admit, it was incredibly amusing watching Frankel pay court to Nuveize, as if he had a hope in hell of winning her over. Wepizi finally noticed the activities to Juimei’s left.
“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” he asked, frowning politely.
“Apparently. I’m trying not to think about it while I’ve got food in front of me. Ow.” Juimei glared at Nuveize—she smiled demurely back. “Nasty bitch.”
“Language,” Wepizi said with a grin.
“You can shut up. She never hits you.”
“Perhaps I just never provoke it, your highness.”
“No, she’s bedazzled by your moustache. It hypnotises people into believing you’re harmless.”
Wepizi stroked it protectively. “But I am harmless. Mostly.”
“Huh. Mostly, indeed. Sephiz’s beard, another course? I won’t eat for a week!”
But even Frankel’s largesse had its limits, and just when Juimei felt he would be violently ill if he had to force down another morsel, the food stopped coming, and a last round of drizu was served as the formal end of the repast. Once everyone had been served and had mugs in front of them, Frankel stood and signalled for silence. “My friends, thank you all for coming. I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal?” There were loud murmurings of approval and assent. “Good. Now—I have my first duty as your mayor to perform, and it turns out to be one of the happiest of all. I have a betrothal to announce.”
“Surely not his own—not this fast,” Juimei muttered. Wepizi put his finger to his lips in reproach.
The mayor was still speaking. “I ask the couple to stand and be recognised.”
Juimei sat back in amazement as his page and his beloved pushed their chairs back, and stood up.
“Neime?”
Neime turned and grinned. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he whispered.
“Surprise?” Juimei hissed. “I’ll surprise you, my lad—wait until we get back!”
Wepizi nudged him. “Jui, shhh.”
The mayor had turned to see what the disturbance was, smiled politely, then turned back to the crowd. “Neime and Lao
vei, both of Dizeindo, have asked me to make formal notice of their intention to wed in the new year. Any objections?” There was a massed shaking of heads, and many grins from the assembly. “Then their betrothal is herewith registered, and provided there are no objections within a month, you may marry at any time after that. Congratulations. I suggest you kiss your intended, young man. It’s considered good luck.”
Neime gleefully obeyed as the guests applauded the sight of young love. Juimei was beside himself.
“Did you know about this?” he growled at Wepizi.
“Not in the least. I suspect the only other person who did, is sitting next to the mayor.”
Juimei sent a glare Nuveize’s way. She looked horribly smug, but she often did, just to annoy him. As Neime sat down, Juimei turned to him.
“I’ll wring your bloody neck! Why didn’t you tell me? Me, of all people!”
“Don’t be cross, Jui,” Laovei said, looking a little upset. “We just wanted to give you a nice surprise. I’m sorry you’re not happy about it.”
“Happy? I’m ecstatic! But you nearly gave me heart failure, the pair of you!”
Neime grinned in relief. “Oh, sorry. We’d have asked you to announce it, but I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate doing that here, and getting betrothed at the winter feast is a bit of a tradition...uh....”
“Yes, it is, and don’t bring that up here,” Juimei said, not wanting to bring Miki’s name into it at such a time. “Well...congratulations. Both of you. But Neime, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you, I swear.”
“Neime’s going to be spanked!” Kilinze cried with unholy glee. “Can we watch?”
“Hush, brat,” Juimei said sternly, wagging his finger at the boy, before turning back to his friend. “Very well—it’s done now. Just don’t do it again.”
“Don’t worry,” Neime said, taking his betrothed’s hand. “I’m not planning to get married more than once.”
Something made Juimei turn, and he saw the tight smile on Wepizi’s face. He looked back at his page.
“May you never have a reason to,” Juimei said solemnly. He lifted his mug of drizu. “To Neime and Laovei. May they be blessed and happy.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 64