Romi nodded slowly. “But he’s not in Visiqe. I thought at the time it was strange they sent a prince out this far to be a governor—the only other case I’d heard of, the man was married and the succession already decided. Was there some kind of scandal that they had to get him out of the capital?”
Though Wepizi knew his friend was only concerned for his sake, he bridled a little at the slight at his lover. “A scandal yes, but not of his making. He was seriously injured, crippled in fact, and thrown over by his lover, who, oddly enough, did that so he could marry the sister of an old friend of ours.”
“Oh? Who’s that?”
“Kizinke. It was all before the expedition, but I found it ironic he should have crossed my path in this way again.”
“Kizinke’s sister?” Romi whistled. “That’s some coincidence. So he left because of a broken heart?”
“More or less, and you know what that’s like.”
“But then he’ll go back one day. He’s only a young man—his father will want him back sometime, surely.”
“Perhaps,” Wepizi said with a shrug, though it was something that bothered him more than he liked. “If that’s how it is, I’ll accept it. While he’s here, I’ll enjoy his love and friendship, and he’ll enjoy mine. I don’t want him to go, but I want the best for him. He’d say the same about me, if I got a promotion.”
Romi narrowed his eyes. “Can you really settle for that? After Lema?”
“Romi, my dear, kind friend—I never thought I’d find another person to care for. Sephiz in his wisdom took my darling from me, and he might do the same with Jui. If I cling too tight, I could lose him anyway. Please...don’t make me discontent. I’ve worked hard to find my peace with this.”
Romi leaned over and placed a hand on Wepizi’s arm. “Sorry, I don’t mean to criticize either of you. We’ve just really been worried about you. It’s been a difficult few months.”
Wepizi smiled at the kindness. “For all of us. I appreciate your concern, my friend. I hope getting to know him, will reassure you. I’ve missed you a good deal. You’ve been in my thoughts.”
“And you in ours. If only we’d got word before we’d sailed back to Darshek. We’d have come here instead of returning. We must have only missed the news by about a week.”
They’d have made a difference, no doubt, but there was no point bemoaning that now. “I know. We managed. Juimei organised things magnificently, and we’ve got good people. It’s a good town. I could be happy here, I think.”
Romi gave him a wry look. “Don’t tell Karik that just yet—he’s still hoping you’ll be posted back to Tsikiugui so we’ll see you more often. I’m trying to get him used to the idea that this might be your final posting.”
“It might be, it might not. Sephiz has been very good to me this year. It would be wrong to complain about what he’s not even brought to pass.”
“True. Let’s go find them.” As they stood, Romi squeezed Wepizi’s arm and gave him an earnest look. “Wepizi, if things don’t go well, for whatever reason—you have always got a home you can come to in Darshian. Never be afraid to ask, however far away we are.”
“I won’t. I swear it. And thank you.”
Karik had their people ready in the yard, and despite the lack of warning about the event, they were all tidy, braids neatly groomed, fresh clothes dug out of their packs for the occasion. Seeing they were all there, Wepizi asked them to move out.
Strictly speaking, he should have gone by doig, but it was too much trouble, and really, it wasn’t as if he would impress any of his Darshianese friends, so he led them up through the town on foot, earning their group many curious looks from the good citizens of Dizeindo. Some of the children even wanted to tag along, before being sternly told by their mothers to mind their manners. The Darshianese smiled and waved to anyone showing the slightest interest, ambassadors for their nation even on this short walk.
Karik got the most attention, his bright hair being even more of a novelty than the long braids. Wepizi doubted a Prij had ever set foot in this town before, and Karik was the fairest man even Wepizi had ever seen. Karik didn’t seem to mind all the curiosity—it was good to see how thoroughly he had recovered from the nastiness on the expedition. He walked proud and confidently beside Romi and Wepizi, regal as any prince. Wepizi wondered what their real prince had made of him—he hadn’t had the chance to ask yet.
It was a little like old times, he thought wistfully, and good to see Jou and Netu again. Jou was married now, and had persuaded her husband to join Romi’s team—but marriage hadn’t changed her at all, and she was just as irreverent and assured as ever. Netu, now finished his healer training and promoted to lieutenant, was looking forward to meeting the town healers. Wepizi rather thought Iome would like him, and find him interesting. Karik had already mentioned the possibility of Iome coming to Darshek to train there. Diplomatically, it was tricky, but it wasn’t as tricky as sending her, say, to Kuprij. Juimei would deal with it. Fortunately, that kind of decision wasn’t part of Wepizi’s remit, and he was glad it wasn’t. He suspected the entire question of the freedom and travel of the Blessed would prove thorny over the coming years.
At the residence, Neime waited for them at the steps. He warmly welcomed the Darshianese, but it seemed to Wepizi there was something in his manner that indicated a problem. He let Romi and the others go in ahead of him, then moved over to Neime. “What’s wrong?”
Neime gave him a worried look. “It’s Jui,” he said quietly, glancing at their guests to see if they were being overheard. “Something in the mail bag. He won’t say, but I know it’s bad news.”
“His family?” It couldn’t be his majesty or the queen—perhaps one of his brothers? But then Wepizi would have been told about that—something like that wasn’t private news—and there’d been nothing in the post.
“I don’t know. We better go in.”
This wasn’t the time or place to discuss this, and certainly not in front of a large group of invited guests. Wepizi smiled reassuringly at Romi, watching him with a puzzled frown.
“Neime, please, lead the way,” Wepizi requested.
The plan, as Wepizi knew it, was to greet everyone in the small dining room. Neime waited for the doors to be opened by the footmen, then announced in a loud voice, “Your highness, Captain Romi and his companions from Darshian.”
Juimei was seated in a grand, carved chair that wasn’t much short of a throne in magnificence—other chairs had been set out for their visitors. Jera and Neka were there, as well as all the other Blessed, and several of the senior household staff. To the side, refreshments lay on a table, and servants stood waiting to attend. Wepizi wondered if his friends realised this was the first formal reception of any kind that this residence had hosted at least since he’d been there and, he suspected, during Juimei’s entire posting. To look at the man, one would never guess he didn’t do this every day of the week.
As they walked in, Juimei got carefully to his feet, and swept his hand to indicate they could sit where they chose.
“Welcome once again, my friends. Captain, if you would be so kind? We can get the formalities over and then enjoy ourselves.”
Romi walked up and bowed, handed over his credentials which were gravely examined. Then, as Wepizi looked on, all the members of the Darshianese party were personally introduced to the prince. There seemed to be nothing overt in Juimei’s manner that indicated he was upset—he was polite and friendly, apparently genuinely interested in each of his guests and very happy to be there.
He made a charming little speech, thanking the Darshianese for coming to their assistance, and for the help that they would be giving, noting how this was not the first time Darshian had come to Andon’s aid, and speaking of the importance of the alliance between two peace-loving nations. It was sincere, to the point, and brief, which, for any soldier, was always the critical feature of any official speech. The brevity and sentiments were obviously appreciated.
> Drizu was served, and small glasses of razika, so the health of his majesty and council, and the Rulers of Darshek, could be toasted. Then things became informal, allowing everyone to mingle for a short time before they went to the official reception. Wepizi managed to get discreetly to Juimei’s side.
“Very nice, Jui.”
“Thank you.” Juimei sipped his razika distractedly, frowning.
“Is something wrong? Neime thought something had come in the post.”
“Yes. It has.” Juimei looked at Wepizi, all trace of cheerfulness gone. “Give me some time to think before I talk to you about it. Can you spend the night here?”
“I...yes, of course.”
Juimei wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. He would just explain to Romi and Karik, and they could have his bed.
That got him a rather strained smile from his lover. “Thank you. Your friends are very charming. Neka is quite the nicest person I’ve met in a long time. Present company excepted,” he added with an ironic bow. “And they’re not hard on the eye, are they?”
“Not at all. Romi’s a handsome fellow, no doubt. But not as handsome as you.”
Juimei rolled his eyes, but his smile this time was more genuine. “Oh, please. No idle flattery, it doesn’t suit you. Go enjoy yourself. We’ll leave in twenty minutes—Jera and Jozin are doing the honours. Oh look—Kilinze’s discovered Romi’s talent.”
The two fire masters were indeed showing each other their light balls—Wepizi hoped they wouldn’t set the curtains on fire. Giwade, smiling to himself, was watching them toss the glowing flames back and forth to each other. Wepizi excused himself from the prince, who had other people claiming his attention, and came over to the youngster’s side.
“Enjoying yourself, Giw?”
“Yes, Wepizi. They’re all so nice. But what’s wrong with Juimei?”
With his talent, there could be no secrets, so there was no point in lying to spare his feelings. “I don’t know, son. I’ll find out later.”
“Good. I hope it’s nothing bad. I like being around him now—I like being around the two of you, because you glow.” Wepizi chuckled—he wished he could see the world as this boy did, just once. “But if he gets all sad and angry again, I’ll have to leave the residence, and I really love it here.”
He laid a reassuring hand on Giwade’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that happening, son. Whatever’s bothering Jui, we’ll sort out. You’ll always have a home here, he’s promised that. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Wepizi.”
He jerked and nearly spilled his drink, before he turned and gave Nuveize a rueful look.
“Can’t you...knock...or something? It’d make me seem less of a fool.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to warn you. The thing that’s bothering Juimei, isn’t small. I’m worried. This could destroy all we’ve done here.”
“But of course you can’t tell me what it is.” He glanced across the room at his lover, now talking to Jou and Neka. What could it be that could disrupt them at this time? “He wants to talk to me later.”
“Good. We’re counting on you.”
To do what? Wepizi sighed. There was no point in pressing her—she must be rattled to have revealed as much as she had.
“Something wrong, Wepizi?”
He turned to Karik, now staring at him in concern.
“Possibly. But there’s nothing I can do about it just now. Come, my friend, tell me more about what’s been happening in Darshek, and how the expedition went. There’s so much to catch up on.”
The little reception went on for half an hour or so, before Juimei suggested that they shouldn’t keep his honour waiting any longer. Though they could have walked, Jozin wanted to take them—perhaps to impress his new friend—so they were flown effortlessly to the mayor’s residence where once again they were received in lavish fashion. It was an even larger gathering than the winter feast—it seemed like half the town had come to have another chance to gawk at the newcomers, and Wepizi had to wonder how Frankel could afford such a thing. Juimei had already said he refused to compete with the mayor in such matters—he said it would send the district broke in a year, and he had more important things to spend money on. Wepizi agreed, and wondered if his honour would beggar himself trying to maintain a grand front. He hoped the man would soon consider he’d done enough, and cut back. Wepizi’s best uniform was being used rather too often for his taste.
With such a crowd, so many tables, and everyone crushed in together, there would be no dancing tonight. Wepizi rather regretted that since he’d been looking forward to taking the floor again with Juimei. At least he was seated next to him, with Romi and Karik on his other side, but there was no chance to talk. Even if they could have used Nuveize’s talent to allow a private conversation, Juimei made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss it here—whatever ‘it’ was. Wepizi tried not to fret and failed completely—if it worried Neime and Nuveize and Juimei himself, it couldn’t be a trivial thing.
For all his private worries, it was a cheerful evening—all the Darshianese who were present, except for Neka and Jera, could speak Andonese, and were much in demand. Karik had to contend with the greatest curiosity, and several slightly unfortunate requests for information about the latest news from Kuprij, before he explained he had no more idea about that than they did. He treated the mistaken assumptions with grace and humour, and betrayed no annoyance, showing again the charm that had been such an asset on their expedition. Romi, too, used the opportunity to win new friends to the Darshianese side, and the mayor, now no longer under the delusion that Nuveize was worth wooing, decided to pick Romi’s brains about Darshian and the Rulers—a far more profitable exercise for his honour, if far less amusing for onlookers.
Nuveize was hardly crushed by the lack of attention—she sat with all the other Blessed and spent most of the time talking to Neka. Wepizi wondered what it was like for the two women, the first meeting between the Blessed of their countries in centuries. They seemed as easy with each other as sisters—though that was possibly because of Neka’s gentle, open nature as much as their mutual talents. Jozin stared a good deal at Jera, but whether he was talking to him at the same time, Wepizi couldn’t tell. He couldn’t help but feel meeting others like themselves, could only be good for all the Blessed, but it was too early to know what effect it would have.
Juimei, for once, wasn’t the most fêted guest, but his prince wouldn’t care about that, and probably welcomed a chance to enjoy himself without the pressure of his position. He held Wepizi’s hand most of the evening, something he rarely did in public. Juimei didn’t make many personal gestures where they could be scrutinised. It was a habit from living in the palace, no more. Normally it would have touched Wepizi that he was breaking that habit tonight—but the possible reasons he was doing so, prevented Wepizi from enjoying the intimacy, or the evening, as much as he would have liked.
The reception went on until nearly midnight, and Wepizi worried that Juimei would become fatigued and start to suffer for it. He himself would have gladly gone, especially as it would be his chance to find out what was bothering his lover. But they could hardly leave before the Darshianese, and the Darshianese were clearly being polite and allowing their host to dictate when the function would end. He was almost ready to breach protocol and suggest he and Juimei left anyway, when at long last Frankel stood up and the music stopped. He thanked everyone for coming, and Juimei getting to his feet at the end of his speech was the signal for the rest to do the same. Finally, they could leave without causing offence. Never had an evening dragged so long.
They elected to walk back, since people were going in two directions. Wepizi said good night to his friends, apologised for not being there that evening, accepted a last worried look from Romi, then took Juimei’s arm for the short walk back to the residence. The Blessed went on ahead, Jozin giving Neime and Laovei a lift, the others walking arm in arm with the
ir new friends, chatting.
“Everyone likes your friends,” Juimei said quietly. “I’m sorry to have kept you from them.”
“Don’t be. What’s this about?”
But his lover shook his head. “Not here. Wait a bit.”
Wepizi could only stamp on his impatience a little longer.
At the residence, rather to his surprise, Juimei headed for his office, not his bedroom. He asked Wepizi to light two of the lamps, then sat at his desk. He opened a document wallet and extracted a letter from it.
“I got this from my father today.”
He held it up—Wepizi could see the broken royal seal, but not the details.
“Bad news? Someone in the family?”
Wepizi sat down too, and looked at his prince.
“No, not bad news at all in fact. Apparently my efforts over the earthquake have not gone unnoticed, and my parents are most earnestly beseeching me to return to Visiqe and take up a position on the council.”
Wepizi was staggered, at first unable to say anything in reaction. Of all the things he’d considered, even after the conversation with Romi, this hadn’t even been on the list.
“But...what about the count?”
Juimei grimaced in distaste. “He’s resigned, albeit temporarily. His father died and he’s gone back to manage the estates. His cronies are still around, and Mikinze will return in a year, but that’s one of the reasons my father would like me to return. They want to bolster the royal faction, which of course is something I strongly support. Apart from that, they claim to miss me. I suppose they probably do.”
“I’m sure they do,” Wepizi murmured, still stunned. “But of course you should go. It’s what you’ve wanted for a long time.”
Juimei gave him an odd look, then slipped the letter back into the file. “There’s more than me to consider. Don’t you care about your own future with me at all?”
“Of course I do! I just...don’t want to stand in your way.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 69