by Leigh, J.
Sitting up a little higher, he cooed internally even as Ass’shiri snorted at the sight of what could only be the Clan district. Jathen was downright awed, having only seen Clan architecture in books. Both clean lined and decorative, the smooth buildings and elaborate, curling rooftops were a strange and fascinating marriage of styles.
“You were right, Ass’shiri,” Jathen murmured as they turned a corner and went deeper into the district. “This is amazing structural design.”
“But it’s weird, not like home. Gah, would you look at that!” Ass’shiri exclaimed as they passed some kind of inscribed archway. “This has got to be the screwiest farce I’ve ever been in.” His eyes grew wide at the sight of a pretty storefront with long black banners embroidered with a golden bird design. “It’s like an alternate dimension.”
“How so?”
“The details are all wrong,” Hatori said. “At least for a lot of the lesser-known influences. See the panther crest in black, plum, and green? Technically, that’s the wrong animal for those colors.”
“Lesser known?” Ass’shiri scoffed. “Those are Tan’cha colors, and we’re damn well enough known that they should get our crest right, thank you.”
Jathen asked, “What is your crest, Ass’shiri?”
“A ka’taka clutching a ral.”
“A what?”
“Ka-ah-ta-ka, a nighthawk.” Ass’shiri grinned. “Nastiest nocturnal bird in the northern Clan Lands, with the best night vision short of a shadow wolf. They need it because they hunt and eat ral snakes.”
“That’s the most poisonous snake in the world, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Their venom will kill just about anything and is also one of the few natural poisons in the world that can paralyze Clan.” Ass’shiri’s prideful smile returned. “But the ka’taka is the only predator that’s fierce and cunning enough to spot the black-and-green bastards, quick enough to grab them behind the head to kill them, and smart enough to eat only the right parts so as not to get poisoned. That’s why my clan’s the ka’taka, because we’re fierce and cunning.”
Hatori chuckled. “No, it’s because you are finicky eaters.”
“Most of the northern clans’ crests are some form of bird or another,” Jephue told Jathen. “Taking after the Mannachi’s thunderbird, no matter what they say.”
“Least we ain’t from the south.” Ass’shiri sniffed. “Toting roses and butterflies.”
“The Iron Butterfly,” Hatori corrected, “Is a symbol of reincarnation, redemption, and transformation.”
“If the Danamani want to spout on about their crest being an ‘iron’ butterfly, then why is it yellow on the flag?”
“Gold plating.”
“Ugh, leave it to me to argue with a charm master.”
“With a Danal mother, no less,” Jephue added.
“No kidding.” Ass’shiri looked impressed for a moment, then grinned. “Well, we can agree the Sanamanch roses are stupid, yes?”
Hatori prodded Ass’shiri’s shoulder with his cane. “Don’t piss on the rose if you don’t want your dick scratched by thorns, Ass.”
Everyone laughed, even Ass’shiri.
“So,” the younger Clansman inquired when the carriage came to a stop before a large Clan-style townhouse. “Who is it we are going to see in this lovely farce of a district?”
“Friend of ours from the old days,” Jephue supplied. “You were speaking of restaurants earlier, Ass’shiri, and he owns the absolute best in Fauve, been running it for almost two centuries now.”
Jathen exited the carriage, followed by Ass’shiri then Jephue and Hatori.
“Yes, one thing I can say about Yuta, the man can fix a fine meal,” Hatori said, approaching the front door. “And he’s got enough sense to stay at what he’s good at and not go branching into things he shouldn’t—a rare trait in a fellow countryman, to be sure.”
“So this Yuta, he’s your patron?” Jathen asked.
“Yuta? Spirit, no.” Hatori shook his head before knocking. “He’s our ride to my patron’s gala, far cheaper than paying a cab to get all the way out there. Republic laws are viciously strict about foreigners owning homes in Fauve, so her estate is just outside the city limits.”
Jathen asked, “So how are you and Jephue going to have a place here?”
“We’ll rent, same as Yuta, to start. But ultimately, the house will be in Jeph’s name.”
“Leave it to you to ask the real estate question,” Ass’shiri told Jathen just as the door opened. “I’m still stuck on the ‘her’ as a patron.”
The doorman greeted them then invited them into the foyer.
“Not to mention ‘foreigner,’” Jathen said. “I think we can officially say our patron is a Clanswoman.”
Ass’shiri nodded. “A very safe bet.”
The doorman led them into a smallish parlor. The room had a dark, mysterious overtone, with long blackout curtains and a misty aura to the lighting. A pallid, lean Clansman with mint-green eyes stepped forward. Jathen wondered as to the brittleness of the man’s bones, as it looked as if he could snap the Clansman’s wrist with a simple handshake. He was proven wrong when the pale blond’s grip was as solid and steely as Chann’s.
“Ugh, Yuta,” Hatori said after the introductions were complete. “What did you do in here?” He swept his hand around, indicating the hodgepodge of opulent textiles and fabrics. “It looks like a Manna vomited, then a Danal scraped it up, bottled it, and sold it at a bargain to a Ra’teen, who then splattered it all over the walls and furniture.”
Yuta laughed loudly. “Ambiance, Hatori Chann, ambiance.” Gesturing at his own black clothing trimmed in white and gold, he added, “The tourists expect a certain atmosphere when it comes to Clan culture, no matter how much it’s been blown askew by popular mystique.”
“Tourists, bah!” Hatori kicked the ornate rug with woven black dragons and silver phoenixes. “This goes beyond catering to tourists. If I find a belfry upstairs where you sleep dangling from the ceiling like a common bat, I’ll pull your damn fangs out myself!”
“By Beleskie, Jephue,” Yuta said, glossing over Hatori’s brooding with a courtier’s finesse. “You look splendid! Have I mistaken my decades again? You cannot possibly be thirty years older!”
“Oh, Yuta, stop it,” Jephue protested then beamed with pleasure. “Save your compliments for your own lover and spare me the blushing.”
“But I honestly mean it, Jeph. You’ve aged splendidly!”
“Oh, stop. You’ll make Hatori jealous!”
“Hardly,” Hatori said. “Not unless Yuta’s swapped preferences.”
Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Stranger things have happened in the Republic, Hatori.”
“Speaking of such,” Jephue said, “what is your status as of late, Yuta?”
“Single again.” Yuta donned a pair of gloves. “Thankfully!” He put on a modest, thin-brimmed hat.
“Oh, darn,” Jephue said. “We’re looking into properties in the city, and I would so love to have another couple to socialize with properly.”
“I’m certain you’ll have no shortage after tonight, Jeph.” Winking at Jathen and Ass’shiri, he added, “Now come along. The carriage is ready, and I know the longer we dally, the sourer our dear Hatori shall grow.”
“You must know him pretty well,” Jathen said, following him out the door.
“Near three hundred years now,” the restaurateur confirmed as they climbed into his spacious covered carriage. “So you must be the Jathen I’ve heard about over the years. Hatori been teaching you well?”
“Teaching?” Jathen blinked and glanced at Hatori. “He hasn’t been teaching me anything. At least, not charm-wise.”
Ass’shiri chuckled. “Yeah, Much as we love Jath, he’s a bit of a dead
-bulb of a Talent.”
“Oh?” Yuta gazed at Hatori. “And here I’d heard a rumor good old Hatori Chann had gotten himself an apprentice in the Tazu Nation.”
“Just goes to show you how much weight rumors have.” Hatori sniffed and turned to look out the window.
“I can assure you, no,” Jathen added. “I was over there almost daily, and I never saw an apprentice.”
Ass’shiri let out a belly laugh. “I don’t think anyone would have the fortitude for it.”
Yuta hooted. “I can actually believe that one!”
The rest of the ride was spent with Jephue and Yuta catching up, which was mostly the latter gossiping on about the extensive love triangles of the Clan community in Fauve. Jathen watched the splendid marble buildings thin into rows of blocky townhouses, until those eventually gave way to the crisp greens of the rolling countryside. The slow rocking of the transport had started to lull him into a light doze when Ass’shiri elbowed him.
“Look.” Ass’shiri pointed out the window at a giant manor just peeking over the next low hill. “We’re almost there.”
Coming up the long driveway, Jathen had plenty of time to assess the home of the mysterious patron. The Tazu palace would easily dwarf the estate, but the massive stone and brick manor was by far the largest private home he had ever laid eyes upon. It had a lazy sprawl, and the architecture seemed eclectic, making him wonder if it had been added onto over the years. Smoothly polished pillars flanked the main entrance, which was fashioned of wrought brass and wood. Parked in front were many gilt-edged carriages, the finely clothed occupants making their way toward the door. The great majority of them were Lu’shun, but some Clan and humans were scattered in the mix as well.
“Watch your step. Their horses have been all over here,” Hatori said as they exited the carriage. “Jathen! Stop staring at the ruddy building and look where you’re going! If you step in shit or walk into a horse, you’re going to be in it deep either way.”
Ears growing warm, Jathen followed the others to the entrance, where a servant awaited them.
“Welcome.” The human footman’s smartly cut uniform looked far more fit and trim than the man himself. “Ah, Charm Master Hatori. The Lady Nosalia is expecting your parcel. If you’d come this way, please, she will see you before the start.”
“And my company?” Hatori asked.
“The Lady expressed a desire to see Mr. Jephue as well.” He waved a white-gloved hand. “But the rest of your company will have to wait.”
“Come now, boys,” Yuta said, driving them onward. “One must never interfere with a woman’s dressing.” Once they were out of earshot, he added, “Or Jephue’s primping, for that matter.”
The three of them meandered about in the grand ballroom with the rest of the wine-sipping guests, awaiting the arrival of their hostess. There were things everywhere—artfully placed items of interest from every corner and culture of the continent graced the walls, floors, and glass display cases.
Jathen peered into one of the glass boxes. “What are they?” he murmured, looking at some thin, misshapen scraps of rusted metal.
“They look like an earth mage sucked all the usable vibrational energy out,” Ass’shiri said. “Or something out of a scrap heap.”
“They are relics,” Yuta explained. “True relics of the civilization that existed before the Great Fall. They are more than nine thousand years old.”
Ass’shiri whistled softly. “Older than the Originals.”
Even upon further assessment, Jathen did not see any great relevance to the half-dozen rusted scraps of unidentifiable alloys. “I thought there was painfully little from before the Fall, as when the continent was raised, it flooded all the land that was left. So how does this patron of Master Chann’s come by something that should be in a museum in Tar’citadel?”
“You don’t know?” Yuta asked. “Lady Nosalia is a patron of anthropological and archeological research for Tar’citadel. She has been for centuries. She’s funded most of the digs on the off-islands here in the Republic for the last fifty years. If not for her generosity, none of this would have seen the light of day.” He gestured at the case. “These are some of the less astounding pieces recovered. The most preserved relics are under a far greater lock and key. They are, after all, the most precious items on the continent.”
“Which is code for ‘most expensive,’ too,” Ass’shiri noted. “I’d wager what’s in this case could probably buy and sell us a few times over.”
Yuta sniffed. “Try buy and sell the whole of the Republic a few times over.”
Ass’shiri paled and leaned back from the glass. “Remind me to steer clear of this case if I get a touch too drunk. All right, Jath?”
“Only if you do the same for me,” Jathen replied, eyeing the arrival of servants bearing trays laden with expensive silver goblets. “What are they serving, anyway?”
“Oh, I have such difficulty with wines now that I’ve gotten older,” Yuta said. “I can never keep track anymore of what was a good year, what wasn’t a good year, or anything in between.”
“I think Jathen was wondering if there’s blood in it, Yuta,” Ass’shiri said. “And yeah, Jath, if they tell you it’s life wine, then there is blood. Not human, obviously, but blood.”
“And that gets Clansmen drunk?” Jathen asked.
Ass’shiri shrugged. “Better than typical alcohol.”
“What about sankal?”
Hatori walked up to them, Jephue tight on his heels. “Sankal could put a Red Mage on his ass.”
“I’ve never had sankal,” Ass’shiri said. “What’s it taste like?”
“Cool, with a slight almond taste at first, then burning,” Jathen told him. “It goes down hard, but I can imagine it tastes better than blood alcohol.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Moot.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Okay, let’s see if the Tazu can hold down some life wine.” Ass’shiri beckoned a tray bearer.
“Oh, Jathen, don’t,” Jephue warned, making a face. “It really is awful if you aren’t Clan!”
“I held my own when Ass’shiri was Feeding,” Jathen pointed out, taking a glass from the server’s tray. “Maybe I’ll not be bothered by this. Besides, everyone is always saying I have to try things, and Ass’shiri’s right—I shouldn’t complain about something I haven’t tried.” He raised the glass. “To new things.”
“To new things!” the little party echoed.
The thick liquid was hot, coppery, and disgusting. Jathen gagged, causing an uproar of laughter throughout the room.
Ass’shiri relieved Jathen of the goblet and patted his back. “Here,” he said between good-natured chuckles, handing him a cup of water. “Drink this. It will help.”
“Kudos to the Tazu for at least trying it.” Yuta laughed, holding his own glass high again. “And only turning a single shade of green.”
“I still prefer sankal,” Jathen managed to croak, which earned even more approving laughter.
“And who do I find as the center of attention at my little party but the infamous Jathen!” The supple voice came from above, cutting over their laughter and silencing the stirring buzz of the room.
Sweeping his eyes to the top of the staircase, Jathen spotted a pale, thin-framed lady. She was clad in the finest of Lu’shun styles: a mix of brown and pink silk supplemented with black lace. The new master charms already lay brightly against her pale neck, the amber set with chocolate diamonds seeming to mimic her amused expression with their superior sparkle.
She strolled leisurely down the steps, her well-manicured fingernails stroking the banister. The woman absolutely radiated presence. Awe, fear, desire, fascination, power, and confidence swirled about her, neither vying for dominance nor truly mixing with one
another. The emotions were so strong Jathen wondered if they were the effect of the master charm.
She approached Jathen and placed two fingers under his chin. “So you are the little Tazu prince my Hatori is always penning on about.” Her eyes were a stark golden color vastly different from a Monortith’s.
While he was nearly a head taller, Jathen was left feeling considerably smaller under her gaze. All he managed to stutter out was an intimidated, “So I guess you’re one of those Mannas, then?”
She chortled, releasing him. “‘Those Mannas’? Oh, my!” She shot a playful glare at Hatori. “Goodness, Hatori, what have you been telling the boy about me?”
“Hardly anything,” Hatori said. “And yet he still can tell.”
“Oh dear!” She rolled her eyes and grinned, showing delicately sharp teeth. “My mother’s mother was Mannachi, though not officially a Manna. My grandfather wasn’t exactly a Beleskie follower, and the First at the time was quite fond of parties, which he’d invite my grandmother to but not her husband.”
She tapped her cheekbone. “So I got the eyes, as you can see.” Then she ran her hand over her dark hair. “And a tinge of the maternal red in my otherwise black locks. But as for any other tendencies, I am quite bereft of them, I assure you.” She stuck out her tongue at Hatori.
Hatori smiled. “Jathen, may I formally present Lady Nosalia, my current patron and dear friend.”