“On your part or his?” Rias asked.
“His. I understand he was nervous so he fortified himself beforehand.”
“And you accepted anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Even with—was the vomiting a part of the evening or did it come the morning after?”
“Let’s just say that I retired that pair of shoes after that dinner,” Tikaya said.
“Given these revelations, I’m feeling even more stung that you hesitated at my offer.”
“Only because of extenuating events.” Tikaya grasped his hand. “You don’t have to tell the president, but I accept now.”
“No vomiting required?”
“None at all.”
“I always suspected that scrub-brush-headed boy lacked class,” Rias said.
“His name is Parkonis.” It was the first time Tikaya could remember him insulting anyone, and she didn’t believe for a second that he’d forgotten Parkonis’s name. She supposed she could forgive him the flaw; after all, she’d have less than savory things to say about his former wife if she ever strolled onto the waterfront. Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “How much class did you display when proposing to your first wife?”
“Well. I didn’t vomit.”
“But you drank?”
“Copious amounts. Any man will tell you that legions of enemy troops are less intimidating to face than a woman.” Rias leaned closer and smiled. “In the empire, kissing is customary to seal a marriage proposal.”
Tikaya returned his smile, taking a moment to admire his strong jaw, the old scars that somehow added to his handsomeness instead of detracting from it, and those dark brown eyes with their flecks of gold—and mostly the way those eyes gazed back at her with love. The proposal might not have gone quite how she’d imagined, but he was here and he’d denied any interest in returning to Turgonia. “An imperial custom that doesn’t involve bloodshed?”
“Yes, it’s one of two or three that fall into that category.” Rias leaned closer, his lips parted, his—
The door opened.
Rias drew away, and Tikaya sighed. All the mischievous sprites on the island were conspiring to keep them apart. This time, only Tosii, the president, and Mee Nar entered the room.
“We accept the premise of your proposal,” the president said as soon as everyone sat down, “but require modification of the final details.”
“Such as?” Rias asked.
“We need time to prepare before this information is released into the world. These submarines, for example, must be built, and we’ll need to increase our readiness in military matters. We’ll also need to see that you’re still around and committed to the continuing safety of the Kyatt Islands, or at least some of its residents.”
The president glanced at Tikaya, and she remembered his comment about a passel of children. Though she was getting all that she’d wanted—a place for Rias on her island and a chance to have a life, even a family, with him—this new twist did disturb her, the suggestion that their choices going forward might not be entirely a matter of free will. Rias’s profile was toward her, and she watched him, wondering if he had similar thoughts.
“In theory, a time delay would not matter to me,” Rias said, “but as long as I am the only Turgonian with this knowledge, I will be a target for your people.” The president shook his head and opened his mouth, but Rias interrupted him. “You can attempt to promise me otherwise, but it’s clear that you don’t have full control over all of your people. Even those you work closely with. Also, you are an elected official whose term is up in two years. There is no guarantee you will be reelected for another term.”
“I understand your objections,” the president said, “and have anticipated them. I propose that you send the information to one or more trusted colleagues or family members you have in the empire, with instructions not to open the sealed information for a certain period of time. Upon the date specified, your acquaintance would be free to deliver the message to your emperor. I suppose it’s too much to hope that he won’t be reelected for a second term.” The corner of the president’s mouth twitched.
The negotiations had been flowing along in Kyattese, and, thus far, Rias had seemed to follow every word, but at this joke, he gave Tikaya a curious translate-please look.
“I believe the president is hoping your emperor might be somehow replaced in the near future. Lifelong reigns are tedious for those who don’t care for a particular ruler.”
“Ah.” Rias faced the president again. “Assassinations aren’t terribly common in Turgonia. It’s considered a cowardly way to get rid of a man, though I suppose you could hope for him to fall in a war.”
“Or trip and hit his head in the bathtub,” Tosii muttered to herself. “Fatally.”
“The emperor is fairly young,” Rias said, “and his heir is only a year old, so you’ll pardon me if I don’t share your hope for his demise. His passing would cause internal strife, and my people would only lose in that matter.”
“But the rest of the world would enjoy peace while it lasted,” the president said.
“Or take advantage of the turmoil,” Rias said. “If I were to agree to write the letters you suggested, what do-not-open-until date would you require?”
The president straightened, a back-to-business firmness steeling his jaw. “You can pick the exact date, but we want twenty years.”
“Twenty years?” Tikaya asked at the same time as Rias and in the same startled tone.
The president frowned at her. Right, she was probably supposed to be on the Kyattese side of the negotiations. He was probably asking for a high number, so he could afford to settle at a lower one.
“Too long,” Rias said. “I’m not a young man and the trusted confidants that come to mind were my superiors when I was coming up through the ranks. I shouldn’t wish them to pass on before they can deliver the letters.”
“You are welcome to send the news to more than one person. I am the one taking the largest risk here.” The president spread his arms, palms up. “I have only your word that you’ll send the letters with instructions for a post-dated delivery, and I can only hope that the people you choose will deserve your trust and not open the envelopes prematurely. I would… not be able to live with myself if the decisions I made today resulted in imperial warships filling the harbor before the year was out.”
“Five years,” Rias said. “That is enough time to build the submarines that have been promised.”
“Fifteen years. Our volcanoes don’t ooze metal ore. We must import the raw materials and we’ll need to upgrade our manufacturing facilities. Military issues aside, we’ll want to build larger underwater boats than the one you’ve shown me, thus to house teams of scientists on extended voyages. There are a great number of wrecks in the world, and this offers a fascinating opportunity for exploration and study.”
Though Tikaya knew he was bargaining for more time, she smiled at the way the president’s eyes lit up as he spoke of exploration. He’d been a history professor at the Polytechnic before running for political office, and he doubtlessly did find the idea of undersea research intriguing.
“All you wish can be done in five years, but I’ll agree to ten if you accept that I will not divulge the names or locations of the persons I’ll entrust with these letters. Though I find the idea of a Kyattese assassin unlikely, I would not wish to tempt anyone.”
“I will agree to these terms so long as you show me the content of the letters before you send them.”
It sounded like a formality. For whatever reason, he seemed inclined to trust Rias. Perhaps, down in the Freedom, they’d discussed the imperial assassin that had once tried to find passage to the president’s doorstep via Rias’s flagship. Or perhaps the president had already known about that. Rias had once said he’d sent a message of warning, though who knew if letters from enemy admirals were placed on the president’s desk?
“I accept.” Rias stood and lifted a hand.
<
br /> The president nodded solemnly at him. “I suggest, then, that we leave these waters to the surfers. We can formalize the agreement tonight after dinner. My staff will prepare a hearty sampling of local dishes, certain to satisfy even a Turgonian appetite.”
Hand still poised in the air, Rias gave Tikaya another questioning look. Recalling that Turgonians often sealed deals orally, with nothing more than a hand clasp, she said, “Papers will be written up, and both parties will have to sign them. There’ll be multiple papers with multiple pages that require multiple signatures. Make sure to eat up at dinner. You’ll need your strength to get through it.”
Rias lowered his hand. “I see.”
The president gave Tikaya a wry look, but made a gesture of dismissal for everyone. He escorted Tikaya and Rias to the railing where the Freedom was tied. Mee Nar waited nearby, having apparently been, as Tikaya suggested, consulted in regard to Rias’s character. Speaking of wry expressions…
“Coming?” Rias asked him.
“I’ve had enough of that deathtrap.” Mee Nar waved a dismissive hand. “The captain of this ship has offered me a ride back to the harbor. Where I should apparently start looking for a new job.”
Tikaya paused. “You’ll stay here even with everybody knowing about…?”
Mee Nar twitched a shoulder. “I’ve grown somewhat fond of my wife. And the weather is most agreeable.”
“See?” Rias nudged Tikaya. “Your climate is more of a draw than you realize.”
“Apparently so.”
Tikaya caught sight of Yosis glowering from the deck of the other ship, but nobody objected when she and Rias climbed down onto the hull of the submarine. He untied the line docking them to the larger craft, and they dropped into the interior. Despite the peaceful conclusion to the negotiations, Tikaya’s shoulders didn’t lose their tense hunch until Rias sat in his chair at the navigation console and began pulling the Freedom away from the Perch—and the vessel with those explosives.
She sank down in the seat beside Rias. “I’m glad we were able to reach an arrangement that didn’t involve bloodshed. Though I’m sorry you were, ah, I hope you won’t feel unpleasantly pressured over the president’s suggestion of marriage and, er, passels of children.”
Rias rotated toward her in his seat, a serene expression on his face.
“Personally, I find big families overrated,” Tikaya said. “I should think two children would be a nice, manageable number, but only if you have notions of fatherhood.” It would be difficult to stomach if he didn’t, but they’d never spoken of it. Rather, they’d spoken of going off in the submarine and exploring together. That might prove difficult with babes along.
Rias was still facing her, his expression calm, almost bland. Or maybe… expectant?
“What?” Tikaya asked.
He smiled slightly. Waiting.
Erg, was she supposed to be figuring something out? Oh, had he…? Tikaya squinted at him. “You didn’t by chance manipulate the president into thinking he wants you to have a tie to the islands, did you?”
Finally, Rias chuckled. “Your people haven’t been that welcoming thus far. I thought it might take something on the order of a presidential mandate to gain me acceptance, or at least the right to walk and breathe without fruit being pelted at me.” He touched his jaw, and Tikaya feared that had actually happened.
“So, when we were arguing about marriage… Were you really arguing with me or was that for show?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured about that, but, yes, I did assume we were being monitored when we were alone in there. One way or another.”
Tikaya leaned back in her seat. “Huh.”
“I hope that vague grunt denotes approval.”
“It does. And also that I was thinking that if our children are as sly as you, they’re going to be challenging to raise.”
“Perhaps you and my mother can exchange letters,” Rias said, facing the controls again.
“I wonder if she’d send advice, or warnings.” She waved to a lever he was gripping. “Back to the harbor?”
“Hm. Not quite yet, I think.” Rias nudged a control. The lighting dimmed as the submarine dipped below the surface, and water covered the porthole. He took them down ten feet or so, then leveled the craft.
“Don’t you need to find a safe harbor for conducting repairs?”
“Yes, but I had something else in mind first.” Rias draped his arm over the back of his chair. “This is the first time we’ve been alone together, somewhere that nobody can interrupt us.”
“Oh?” Tikaya bit back a smile and strove for an expression of innocence instead. “Did you have… something in mind?”
“Yes, my lady.” Rias surged to his feet and swooped her up into his arms. “I did.”
“You did? Whatever is it? I require details.” Tikaya looped her arms around his neck.
Rias ducked and slid sideways through the hatchway so her legs wouldn’t bump the frame. “It’s been irking me to no end that my helper is the only one who’s entertained a woman on my bed.” He ducked through a second hatchway, this time into the sleeping cabin.
“That does seem terribly unfair.”
“I’m glad you agree.” He bent his head and kissed her jaw, then her neck.
Tikaya would have happily given into the delightful sensations and crawled into the bed with him, but she caught sight of that chest. It sat in the corner by the door, grime still crusted to the outside, though enough had been cleared away from the lid area to reveal handsome hand-carved stone features. “Rias. You still haven’t told me what was actually in there.”
“Hm?” he asked, lips moving down to her collarbone. He set her on the bed.
Tikaya promptly squirmed out of his grasp. “I have to know. Was the captain’s log in there? A detailed explanation of the events that befell the colony? Protected and preserved in a waterproof scroll case sealed with beeswax?” Tikaya almost laughed at herself. As if the captain could have guessed that his words would spend centuries on the bottom of the ocean. “Or some other treasure of historical significance?”
Rias sighed. “I suppose it depends on how you define treasure.” He lay propped on his elbow on the bed.
Tikaya wasn’t sure if the chest would be locked again, but when she tried the lid, it opened. It was heavy, though, and took two hands to lift. She found herself staring at—
“Gold coins?” Her shoulders sagged. “That’s it? That’s all there is in here?” She raked through the mound. “They’re not even an interesting collection; just plain old coins stamped from a seven-hundred-year-old Nurian mint.”
Rias’s laughter echoed from the walls of the small cabin. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who would be disappointed by finding a fortune in gold.”
Tikaya curled her lip at the coins. She’d seen dozens of similar ones in the past. They weren’t rare or collectible, and were simply worth their weight in gold. A fortune, perhaps, but nothing historically intriguing. “I should have taken one of the amphoras.”
“The chest is nice,” Rias said. “Hand-carved by a master mason, unless I miss my guess. Perhaps if we clean it up further, the carvings will have some historical value.”
“I suppose.” Tikaya let the lid drop. “So, all that time, you didn’t know anything at all in regard to the secrets of those old colonies.”
“Nothing but guesses.”
“I’ll have to tell you the story, so you can relay it properly.”
“It was nice of you to get the information, but…” Rias patted the bed. “Why don’t we save story hour for later?”
Tikaya climbed in beside him. “If you insist.”
EPILOGUE
Tikaya searched the growing crowd of friends, colleagues, and relatives as she plucked at a seashell bracelet dangling from her wrist. She kept hoping to see her father. She didn’t expect Grandpa—he’d probably die before he called Rias anything other than an ugly joratt, and her a fool for mar
rying one—but she’d hoped… She wanted to see Father there. She shouldn’t, after all he’d done to try and get rid of Rias, but if he came to the wedding, it might mean that he regretted those choices, and regretted letting himself be strong-armed into making them. Or at least it might mean that he could accept that Rias would be a part of the family.
She sighed and leaned against a post supporting a flower-bedecked bamboo bower. Inside awaited a simple table supporting an old carved wooden bowl. It overflowed with stuffed dates, coconut candy, and other sweets designed to entice Akahe to visit and perhaps bless the wedding. Of course, it held at least two times the normal amount of sweets—dates had spilled out of the bowl onto the lace doily beneath it. Mother must think much more than the usual bribe would be required to get a blessing for this pairing.
“What’s taking so long?” Tikaya glanced at the house and toyed with the bracelet again. Her mother had given it to her when she’d been putting on her dress. Generations old, it had apparently been worn by many Komitopis women on their wedding days. Sensing a touch of the Science, Tikaya had asked what sort of properties it was imbued with, but her mother had simply smiled. Knowing her, it probably encouraged fertility.
“Last I heard, your mother and aunts are fiddling with Rias’s wardrobe, trying to make him look unthreatening and unmilitary.” Elloil was lounging against a post on the other side of the bower and eyeing the sweets.
“Not one of your floral shirts, I hope.” Tikaya thought Rias looked quite dashing in a Turgonian uniform—it suited him far more than island clothing—but she supposed not everyone there would appreciate seeing him so garbed.
“Nah.” Ell was wearing a chaste cream-colored shirt and forest green trousers. He almost looked respectable, though his yellow and orange sandals, replete with blue tassels, rebelled against the sedateness of the rest of the outfit. “Though, on my last trip through the house, I did hear someone musing about a vine crown woven with flowers.”
Tikaya groaned. “I hope you’re teasing me.”
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