by TJ Muir
“Can we take a walk through the botanicals or something? I’d really prefer to get outside. You can teach me about plants.”
Jay watched Kirrin wrestling with the suggestion. Jay guessed Kirrin was under some kind of orders from Hak’kar regarding his education. He tried to look innocent and pleading. He wished he knew how Diya managed that.
Oatmeal and eggs and ham devoured, Jay was dumping his dishes in the sink.
“Wash them,” Kirrin said.
Jay sighed, and turned on the water, and waited for it to get hot. He was sure Trey didn’t have to wash his own dishes. He took his time with the dishes and wiped down the counters and table. He was hoping Kirrin would get distracted, allowing him a chance to slip out.
He heard a commotion at the front door, over the water. He hoped an invitation had arrived. Kirrin couldn’t argue with a social obligation. Jay had figured that out long since. His formal education was a close second to making social connections. But the social events won out every time.
He tossed the dish cloth over the faucet, the way Kirrin liked it and walked around the corner into the front room.
There was a man there, in formal attire. Jay recognized the colors as Trey’s House. The messenger bowed. Very formal.
“Can I help you?” Jay asked, looking at Kirrin for a cue.
“Da’har Zo’Trey Zayam requests your presence,” the man said.
“Sure. Tell him I will visit him,” Jay said. “this afternoon?” he added, looking at Kirrin asking for a confirmation.
The man looked distressed. Or maybe he was annoyed. Jay couldn’t tell.
Kirrin stepped in, leaning toward Jay.
“This is a formal summons,” he explained.
Jay took a sharp breath, eyes widening. He looked at Kirrin. “Come with me?”
Kirrin shook his head. “No. This is a formal summons,” he repeated. “To you. singular.”
“Oh.” Jay said, grasping the importance of this from the look on Kirrin’s face.
“A moment, please, while the young master makes himself presentable?” Kirrin said to the waiting messenger.
A nod. The man let himself out the front door.
Kirrin bustled Jay down the hallway into the bathroom for a quick scouring. Kirrin ran the water, getting it hot enough, and then wet a cloth, and lathered it with soap. “Here. Quickly. Face, neck, arms. And armpits. Actually, top to bottom. Hop to it,” he said, as he left the bathroom and headed into the bedroom, making a beeline for Jays’ wardrobe.
Jay heard him rifling through his clothes, many of which were dirty.
By the time Jay came into the room, Kirrin had clothes picked out for him: a light gray shirt and a dusty blue vest with black trim. He pulled out a medium gray pair of pants and black suede boots. Kirrin was trying to make sure Jay’s colors complimented Trey’s House, without overstepping. And he needed to be sure that Jay was not dressed in the colors of an opposing House- which would be considered an insult.
It wasn’t very long before Kirrin had Jay dressed, and hair brushed, being hustled out the door.
“Go. Hurry,” Kirrin said. “Do not keep the Da’har waiting.”
“What should I do? What should I say? What is this about?” Jay asked, beginning to panic.
Kirrin stopped, taking Jay by the shoulder. “It will be fine. Listen, pay attention. If you are unsure of anything, ask. If you cannot ask your friend, then look for a servant, preferably the Da’har’s personal servant-- who will know. I do not know what this is about. But he requests your presence for some reason. He trusts you. Be his friend.”
Jay relaxed a bit at the last bit. Be his friend. He could do that. He nodded and headed out the door.
A dark blue carriage with the crane emblazoned on the doors stood in the lane. Jay stopped, feeling the panic stir. He had expected to just walk over to Trey’s as he always had. But the messenger stood by the carriage, holding the door, waiting. The driver looked over at Jay. He fought down the impulse to run. He took a breath and squared his shoulders and stepped into the carriage, the door closing behind him.
Compared to the walk Jay was used to, it was a quick carriage ride across the bridge to Trey’s house. No, Jay corrected himself. Zo’Trey. This was formal.
The carriage pulled to a stop at the main entrance, and the servant opened the door for Jay. Jay climbed down and followed the servant into the house. Inside, he was handed off to Trey’s house steward. Jay recognized the man, aloof and formal. Creased, was the term Trey had used to describe him once. Looking at the man watching him, Jay understood what Trey meant.
“Zo’Trey is expecting you,” the steward said. “He is sitting in conference with his advisors.”
Jay blinked, unsure what to say or do. “Is there anything I should know? Or do?” he asked, remembering Kirrin’s advice.
The man looked him up and down. Paused. The silence stretched. Jay waited.
“I will escort you in and announce your arrival. Wait until you are addressed. Never speak without being invited to. Zo’Trey is young and inexperienced. He will forgive your lack of polish. But do not presume upon his goodwill.”
Jay heard the warning beneath the words. He remembered Trey not liking his steward, and wondered if the steward was speaking for Trey’s interest or someone else’s. Jay felt cowed by the man. He wondered if Kirrin would be that imposing on his own behalf, as the man turned and led Jay down the west hall. This was the formal end of the residence, an area that Jay was unfamiliar with. Large doors opened into a conference room. A dozen advisors, all relatives, were seated around a large table. Trey sat in a large chair at the head of the table.
Jay had no problem following the steward's advice. He had no idea what was expected of him, so he stood there, silent, looking around the room.
“Zo’Trey. Your father understood the importance of his allies. You dishonor his memory if you do not maintain his agreements.”
Jay took the opportunity to watch. Trey looked distressed, defiant, and tired. The man had been speaking to Trey as to a wilful child. The tone implied that he was trying to make the child see reason.
The man across the table spoke up, “Your uncle speaks reason.”
Trey spoke up. “But my father never finalized this agreement.”
“Surely, though, that was his intent,” the first man said: Trey’s uncle.
“I do not know my father’s intent. Nor does anyone here. The agreement remained unsigned. Now it is to me to decide how to proceed.”
“Surely your father…”
“I am not my father. That is your complaint,” Trey said with an air of finality. Jay wasn’t sure if it was defeat or defiance. When he shifted his awareness, he sensed both of those aspects in equal measure. He hoped Trey would choose defiance.
“Enough. I have spoken,” he said, waving his hand, dismissing further discussion on the subject. Trey turned, looking at Jay. He dipped his chin slightly, acknowledging Jay’s arrival. With that, he felt twelve sets of eyes boring into him. He knew they were measuring and weighing every detail and taking his measure. Who was this person, and what was his connection to their sovereign?
“You are dismissed. All of you,” Trey said, standing up.
Jay shifted his weight, ready to leave, but the steward’s hand quietly took hold of his arm, stopping him.
Trey’s advisors bowed in turn and filed out. Jay thought maybe there was an order of procession, and that he was being made to wait until last before exiting the room.
Finally, all of them had left the room. But the steward continued to hold onto Jay’s arm, restraining him politely. Jay stood there, waiting for several moments. Trey stood at the end of the room, staring out the window. Jay realized that Trey looked lost, and out of his depth.
After a few minutes, Trey turned back to his steward and Jay.
“Come,” he said, turning to a hidden door in the wall behind him.
The door led into a small private room, far less formal and in
timidating. Jay followed the Trey into the room, standing by the door, next to the steward.
“Brandy, please,” Trey said.
The steward stepped into the room, going to a glass cabinet where he filled a decanter with brandy and brought two glasses. He set them on the table and looked at Trey.
“That will do. I need nothing further for now.”
The steward took his leave silently.
Jay started to chew his lip, then stopped himself.
“Come. Sit. Please,” Trey said.
Jay saw the look on Trey’s face. He saw Jay treating him as the others had. But Jay didn’t know how to act, and Trey wasn’t Trey right now. He was Da’har Zo’Trey. He looked closer at his friend. Dark circles under his eyes, and he looked thinner. And then he saw the tears welling up in Trey’s eyes.
Jay could feel Trey’s heart breaking. Jay thought back to the people in the room.
“I heard your uncle’s wife is an ugly sea cow,” Jay said, trying to sound casual.
Trey’s head tilted, and then he laughed. “Completely ugly, but uncle found her inheritance quite attractive.”
That was the bit that broke the dam, and Trey broke down into tears. Jay went to him and held him, feeling his pain and distress as though it were his own.
The two of them sat and drank brandy for the rest of the Nibbin. The steward knocked twice, with messages for Trey. Jay couldn’t tell what was said, as the man bent close to Trey and spoke so that only Trey would hear. On his second entrance, Trey requested lunch be brought in, and that he not be disturbed. Jay's eyes went wide when he saw “lunch,” a cart was wheeled in with enough food on it to feed a family for a week. It seemed his cook sent every possible food item. Jay looked at it all and hoped that whatever was left went to the staff. But his attention shifted back to Trey, as the steward refilled the almost-empty decanter, and left them alone.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to. Any flying? Boating? Wild drunken parties?”
Jay shook his head. “Nothing so exciting. Everyone seems to be absent, or subdued.”
“Have you seen Findal?”
“No. I haven’t, except in passing, briefly,” he said and took a sip of brandy.
Jay considered the decanter and the strong brandy. Drinking this much on an empty stomach was never a good idea. He had no idea when, or if, Trey had last eaten. He looked towards the steaming hot plates, all covered.
“Please, go ahead. Help yourself,” Trey said, waving his hand toward the tray.
Jay took a plate and began to fill it. He saw mushrooms that were stuffed with something. He sniffed it, and decided it was sausage. Not quite a sausage roll, but close enough. He picked through, looking for simpler foods, like those he remembered filling their tables in the past.
“If you wanted, I could bring a message to her, for you,” Jay offered, as he put together a large plate of assorted things, and carried it back to where Trey was sitting.
He stood there, waiting.
“By the nine hells, just sit down!”
Jay felt relieved, hearing a bit of Trey in that small annoyance. He pushed the plate between them, hoping to tempt Trey into eating something. He dove into the stuffed mushrooms, tasting the sausage and spices.
“It’s no sausage roll, that’s sure,” he said. “But it’ll do. I’m not sure what the spices are, though.”
Trey picked one up, took a bite. “Sage, I think. And some choofa spice.” Then he popped the rest of it into his mouth. Another followed, and another.
“I don’t know what to say to Findal,” Trey said, continuing the previous discussion. “I don’t even know what to do in most things. I do something, only to discover whichever I choose, someone is angry or displeased.”
While he listened to Trey, he dug into stuffed rolls. They were filled with meat and vegetables, cheese and spices. The dough was light and soft, with a hint of garlic and butter. “I think I like these better,” he said, tempting Trey into eating.
Jay watched his friend devour the entire plate, which Jay replaced before it was empty. Meats and cheeses, and vegetables rather than sugary treats.
“These people, earlier,” Jay asked. “Your council of advisors?”
Trey nodded. “Vultures, more like. Hungry, no--ravenous--predators. All of them.”
Jay nodded. “These are people appointed by your father?”
Trey nodded. “Yes. And I don’t know why he made the choices he made. I know he had reasons for his decisions. But I was never involved in it. I have inherited a tangled mess.”
Jay listened. He might not know much about how families and politics worked, but he was fairly good at sorting through things and grasping the real problem or question.
“You don’t trust the people you are supposed to rely on for advice?”
“Absolutely not. I can’t figure out what they want, for themselves, out of every proposal. It is always many layers beneath what is present. My head pounds before a session is half over, sitting with them.”
“And you say these are men your father appointed?”
“Yes,” Trey said, sounding a little annoyed at the repetition.
“Why don’t you just get rid of them then?”
Trey’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane? They would think I had been possessed or had lost my senses.”
“So what?”
“You can’t just disband a council. It just isn’t done.”
“Well, certainly I cannot. But you? You are Da’har.”
Trey’s mouth worked, cheeks puffing, as he considered the enormity of Jay’s suggestion.
“What is your job, anyway?” Jay asked. “I mean, what is it you, as Da’har, are expected or required to do? What does it mean to be a Da’har?” Jay was trying to figure out the basic function of high-politics in the city. It seemed best to start with the basic questions.
“Well, the Da’har oversee issues with their So’har,” Trey said.
“Have you met with them?”
“Well, no. My advisors and councilors do that. I have met with each, as per advised by my Uncle. But that was just an affirmation of loyalty.”
The uncle, again.
“So your councilors take care of everything and just tell you what you are supposed to do?”
“Yes. That is tradition,” Trey said. “Long standing tradition.”
“Yes, and that would have worked for Taj, wouldn’t it?”
Trey blinked, looking strained.
Jay hoped he wasn’t becoming one more nattering voice.
“What’s your point?”
“You’ve walked into the middle of a story, where everyone but you knows what is going on. They have you at disadvantage, and they know it.”
Trey looked like he was getting angry. Jay knew he was reminding him of just how badly he was managing things.
“So, like in Polarity,” Jay said, drawing on his very limited understanding of that game, “You’ve lost possession of the ball.”
Trey let out a coarse laugh, running hands through his hair.
“You are using these people as though they are your team-players, and yet you speak of them as though they are actually your opponents. It seems to me that you either need to find a way to make them your team playing for you, or you need to bring in players that are on your side-- whatever it is you are choosing. Good council is not the same as bullying and intimidation.”
Trey cocked his head, looking askance at Jay. Jay watched as Trey took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing a bit as he leaned back into the cushioned velvet backrest.
Trey sat there for a while, chewing on a meat pie, and thinking. Every once in awhile, Jay thought he was about to speak, but then sighed and leaned back again. Finally, he leaned forward and drained his glass of brandy.
Jay knew he missed and mourned his brother and his father. He had barely seen his mother since that afternoon. So stricken with grief, she had secluded herself, leaving Tatak Rhe, for an estate outside of the city, closer to Tre
y's uncle. That also had hurt Trey. Jay could read that in Trey’s face, without even needing to look at his colors. Trey had lost his family.
“I want you with me,” Trey said.
“I am with you,” Jay said. “I am your friend.”
“No,” Trey said, voice firmer. “I want you with me. Here.”
“What?” Jay almost dropped his brandy, and the mushroom tumbled to the floor.
Trey walked to the door and pulled a cord. Jay watched him walk back and sit down, looking resolved and defiant. A moment later the steward appeared.
“Arrange for rooms. The suite at the end of the north hall,” he said. Turning back to Jay, he added, “There will be room for your man, as well.”
Jay felt his stomach drop and knot up. He didn’t belong here. It would bring too many questions he couldn’t answer. Someone would find out the truth. And that would be the end of him. Hak’kar would have no further use for him, and he would lose every friend he had made. This was bad. Trey looked at him with a worried look. Jay could see Trey was afraid his friend wanted to abandon him- just by the pleading look in his eyes. Jay swore to himself but knew he couldn’t refuse his friend. Right now he knew one thing with absolute certainty. Trey needed his friendship.
He nodded his agreement. Trey sighed, relieved, and nodded to his steward, dismissing the man to make the necessary arrangements. Jay wondered if someone was in those rooms. But he gathered that did not matter. Trey had made a simple but solid decision, without asking for permission.
“What is it you expect me to do?” Jay asked, worried.
Trey shrugged. “Keep me sane. Keep me from my worst mistakes. Personal advisor?”
Jay cringed at that, knowing exactly how popular that would be among Trey’s council of official advisors. He didn’t know if he would be expected to attend formal sessions. But even if he was able to remain invisible, these men and women would soon be aware of the addition to Trey’s staff. He prayed that Kirrin would know what to do, because he knew it was only a matter of time before it blew up around him.
Jay was shown to his rooms. They were considerably larger than his entire cottage. He noted the balcony and wide windows with relief. His instincts covered escape routes and secret ins and outs automatically. He could find no fault with his accommodations. It was a private suite of rooms, with a small master suite, and second quarters that he presumed would be for Kirrin. The servant showed him the pull-cord by the door, and another one in the study.