The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  “No idea,” Tiral said, mystified. “He said my brother had borrowed some recordings from him, but I’ve no idea why he thinks I’d have them.”

  Zev made a noncommittal noise and led them out of the ballroom to the street. Their car was already waiting, driver ready, and Tiral found himself grateful for Zev’s foresight.

  All in all, Tiral reflected, not a bad night.

  11

  Several days later, Tiral stripped off his gloves, handed them to a footman, and tried not to groan when he saw Rexe waiting for him. She offered a sympathetic smile, so some of his unhappiness must have shown on his face. He gestured towards the library and preceded her inside.

  “What bad news do you have for me?” he asked.

  “Scheduling the parties — which you hired me to do, as you’ll recall — isn’t bad news,” she retorted.

  “It is when it’s a series of teas and intimate luncheons, and… garden parties,” he said. The last, he was sure, were simply a new method of torture. He’d learned more about horticulture in the few weeks he’d been on Lus than he’d known in his entire life up until that moment. He assumed that this knowledge would eventually prove to be useful. However, until the moment he decided to start his own garden in his office window or wrest control of the Gret gardens from his mother’s sovereign hands, it was merely more information he had to retain, like all the dizzying tangle of titles and relationships between peers.

  “You said no balls until your tutor had given you leave,” Rexe said, smirking down at her tablet. “Tutor.”

  “I wouldn’t want my own inability to court to affect my chances,” Tiral said, knowing that it sounded pathetic.

  “So you’d prefer daytime affairs?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “At least I know people there,” he said. “Mostly. They’re all old family friends, or the older siblings of people I knew in graduate school.”

  “And they’re more likely to be married and less likely to be on the hunt for a spouse,” Rexe pointed out.

  Clearing his throat, Tiral said, “Was there something you needed?”

  Allowing him the grace of a topic change, Rexe said, “You’ve been receiving more invitations to balls since your outing to the masquerade. Mister Yuls’s secretary said you might, as you apparently made a splash. Either way, you should decide with your ‘tutor’ whether you’re ready for balls or not.”

  Nodding, Tiral said, “Thank you, Rexe.”

  “Don’t forget your excursion this afternoon,” Rexe reminded him. “Mister Yuls’s secretary called to confirm.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Tiral said. He nodded his head when Rexe sketched a bow and left.

  Sitting back in his chair, Tiral looked up at the library ceiling. Zev had said that they were going somewhere ‘cultural’ and when he’d drawled the word, Tiral couldn’t help but picture something absurd like the Wey Street Market or perhaps the docks. Zev seemed to hold most things that were typically ton in some disdain and Tiral wondered how he balanced his dislike for the things related to those whom he seduced.

  He looked down at himself and hoped that the morning suit he wore would fare well enough wherever Zev had arranged for them to go, as he had neither inclination nor sartorial expertise to change it. Zev would occasionally mention a more appropriate outfit if Tiral was terribly dressed, but mostly he complimented Tiral enough that Tiral began to believe he had made the correct choice.

  It was what had happened at the ball. Dressed like a gold-plated statue, Tiral had felt ridiculous, but Zev’s assurances had made him feel less foolish and more desirable. The idea that Zev might find him attractive was brushed off after the fact, but the implication of it had left him giddy.

  A knock sounded on the door and Masub entered. “Mister Yuls, sir.”

  “Show him in,” Tiral said, waving his hand. He got up and straightened his coat, trying to appear as though he hadn’t been slouching in his seat moments earlier.

  Zev entered, his smile wide when he saw Tiral. “Good show, old fellow. That color is most becoming.”

  “You chose it,” Tiral pointed out, but he knew he was grinning himself.

  “Well, good on me, then,” Zev said. “I did well to choose something that made you so attractive. I suppose I’m responsible for your looks as well? Your genetics and upbringing?”

  “On that, you are absolved,” Tiral said. “We must give some credit to my parents.”

  “Them? But they only birthed you, whereas I have taken the raw stone provided and carved this beauty,” Zev said as he gestured up and down to Tiral’s attire.

  “Dear sculptor, what is our destination?” Tiral asked.

  “Eager, aren’t you?” Zev said. “Did I pique your curiosity?”

  “I was afraid we were going to a gaming hell or otherwise unsuitable establishment all in the name of culturing myself,” Tiral said. “I await your idea.”

  “We should begin, then,” Zev said. “I hate to keep my audience in suspense.”

  “Oh, such torture.” Tiral followed Zev through the library doors. “What can I do with such indecency?”

  He accepted his hat and gloves from a footman and watched as Zev pulled on his own, long fingers disappearing into the fabric. Then they were out on the street and he looked for Zev's car automatically. He only saw a small two-person flyer, and looked at Zev questioningly.

  “We aren’t driving?”

  “I thought we might go a bit farther afield today,” Zev said, holding open the door for him. “The Partrust Museum is on the southern continent and has its fair share of masterworks.”

  Agreeably, Tiral got in and said, "I honestly was picturing something more like the Wey Street Market." At Zev’s startled look, he apologized. "Not that I think that that is all you do all day. Go to shadowy markets and meet with shadowy people.”

  "So you think that I only meet shadowy people some of the time,” Zev said. “Ah, well, I should be reassured that you suppose that I am only sometimes shocking.”

  He started the flyer, and Tiral was impressed with how quickly it rose and the smooth nature of the ship. It felt like a top-of-the-line flyer, with its polished interior and handling mechanism that was clearly designed for both the accomplished and novice pilot. As the Lusian capital shrank below them, he watched how Zev managed to get them quickly en route. Zev was clearly more accomplished than most of their peers at handling flyers.

  “I’m sure you’re exactly as shocking as you want to be,” Tiral said, after they’d left the city proper and were zipping above fields and nature preserves. “You have a knack for making one feel a bit flat-footed, though.”

  “I make you feel unsure?” Zev grinned. “You’re far too clever for that. I would have to spend my whole day devoted to a set-down in order to leave you on your heels.”

  “Such falsehoods!” Tiral laughed. “I assume that a great portion of your day is also spent courting the most attractive members of the ton.”

  “Is that all you think I do? Seduce the beautiful?” Zev asked. He glanced at Tiral, his tone quiet. His eyes were magnetic, and Tiral swallowed.

  “To be frank, I find what you do with your days to be so mysterious that it makes my own curiosity most improper,” Tiral said mildly. He quirked a smile. “I don’t imagine that you spend all of your days tempting the ton, but I would be hard-pressed to guess what it is you do with your time.”

  “Shall I tell you?” Zev asked. His eyes flickered over to Tiral’s, a challenge there.

  Tiral considered telling him what he knew, but understood that would fundamentally change their relationship. There could be no return to their easy camaraderie if Zev knew that he was exposed. Choosing the easy route, Tiral placed a hand on Zev’s wrist where his hand rested on the wheel, feeling bold.

  “I would never have you reveal something that you’ve been so capably hiding, nor ask you to divulge what you’ve been dissembling,” Tiral said. “It is enough that you’ve been kind to me and that I consid
er you my friend. How could I ask for more than that?”

  Zev turned his hand and suddenly they were palm to palm. The sensation made Tiral shiver and he glanced at Zev to see if it had the same effect on him, but Zev’s face was showing something else entirely. It was as though the mask he wore all the time had slipped, and Tiral was seeing the exhaustion that it covered. He waited, quietly; it was the only way he knew to help bear the weight of Zev’s untold secrets.

  “You could ask for more,” Zev murmured. His lips barely moved and his eyes still held some of that challenge, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his gaze.

  “And I won’t,” Tiral said. “What use is a confession dragged out of you? The only information I want is freely given.”

  Zev said nothing, but their palms stayed touching, fingers brushing each other. They might have flown the whole distance like that except that a sudden jolt had Zev returning both hands to the wheel. He frowned at the displays that popped up in front of him, and said, “I’m not sure…”

  But the vehicle made the decision for them. Emergency Landing Initiated flashed in bright red letters across all screens, and Zev had to pull his hands off the wheel as it locked him out of piloting.

  “Good protocols,” Tiral said, automatically checking his own straps.

  The flyer slowly sank to the ground and bright lights began flashing as an automated voice said, “Please exit the vehicle. Please exit the vehicle until your safety can be guaranteed. Help has been called.”

  The flyer settled on the ground gently, and a green light flashed across the screen, indicating it was safe to exit. Opening his door, Tiral winced at the sunlight. The vehicle’s tinted windows had masked how bright the afternoon sun was, and he shaded his eyes, looking in either direction for the promised help.

  “Do you think they called back to the capital or are we close enough to some other locality?” he asked.

  Zev was frowning at his fob and said, “I’m not sure that they called anyone.”

  “What do you mean?” Tiral asked sharply. He could see no buildings around, and he wasn’t sure where they were in relation to anything.

  “My fob has no reception. Does yours?” Zev asked.

  Tiral pulled out the small device and frowned at the symbol indicating that he was out of range of any network. He tried a few quick troubleshooting steps, but that only wasted a few minutes and led to the frustration of struggling against an invisible foe. Putting away the device, he turned to study the flyer.

  “Did you have any hint what was wrong when we went down?” Tiral asked.

  “None,” Zev said. “The warnings were too quick before they were taken over by the automated emergency system.”

  “Well, that’s no help, then,” Tiral said. He moved to the back of the flyer and began pushing on panels until one yielded the emergency kit he was looking for. Behind it was a small toolkit, intended for only the most basic fixes.

  He glanced down at his suit and sighed. Stripping off coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, he rolled up his sleeves until his forearms were visible. No sense in ruining a perfectly good tailored shirt, if he could help it. In his shirtsleeves and pants, he felt fairly naked, but one glance at Zev’s half-opened mouth made him hide a smirk.

  “I’ll see if it’s something easy to fix before we have to begin walking,” Tiral explained.

  “Of course,” Zev said. “By all means.”

  Tiral worked on the flyer, his hands quick, doing things that Zev mostly understood from having read reports, but had never had to do himself. At first, he entertained himself by admiring the landscape, but as it was a fairly flat field, either ill-maintained or purposely gone fallow, he wasn’t sure what more there was to see beyond the yellow weeds waving in the breeze. Occasionally, a butterfly would cross his vision, and he could be entertained following the colorful creature until it disappeared beyond his ken.

  “Have you figured out what the problem is?” Zev finally asked.

  “Yes,” Tiral said, his voice slightly muffled. He turned his head towards Zev. “The transformer overloaded — it looks like someone didn’t install it correctly. I’m trying to use the one from the emergency system as a quick replacement. It won’t be pretty, but we should be able to limp back to the capital.”

  “I was looking forward to showing you some Muraus paintings,” Zev said, realizing he was nearly pouting. “They were on loan from several other institutions.”

  “Muraus,” Tiral said, the name practically a curse. He muttered a long diatribe against the man with his head still buried under the hood of the flyer.

  “Such hatred for Muraus,” Zev said. He began to go through the emergency kit that Tiral had unearthed, looking for anything that could help with the terrible heat. “Wasn’t he the Emperor’s own artist in residence?”

  “What he was was a thief,” Tiral said. “A good one, who was able to harmonize his own techniques with others and never liked to give another artist credit.”

  “Such bitterness,” Zev said. “Did he steal your techniques as well?”

  “As he died two hundred years before I was born, that is one black mark I cannot give him,” Tiral said, grinning as he emerged from the hood. “Should I continue?”

  “Please, continue to blaspheme against the most popular artist of his time.” Zev grinned, and Tiral continued his rambling discourse as he worked, getting distracted by the Aquarians who came after Muraus. As Tiral finished off his explanation of the real reason he believed so many of the Aquarians moved on from water after the heyday of the movement, Zev found himself applauding slowly.

  Turning, Tiral became aware again of his audience and flushed an attractive pink. “At least that’s what I’ve deduced from the writings of scholars,” he muttered.

  “You know more about it than me,” Zev admitted. “Although if my history instructor had presented it in such terms, I might have stayed in school more often.”

  He passed Tiral one of the water bottles that were stored in the pack and watched him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, spreading a line of grease across his skin. Zev said nothing, distracted by the motion of Tiral’s throat and the sounds he was making as he swallowed. In the sunlight, he seemed more golden than usual, as though made for this sort of lighting on this sort of day.

  “You enjoy art more than I expected,” Zev said. “I feared we might wander the museum halls and have you say, ‘I like this one. It looks blue.’”

  “Unfortunately, Edah and I both had a number of tutors who thought that the children of peers should be more interested in art than engineering or agriculture,” Tiral said, smiling softly. His brows drew apart, and he looked relaxed for the first time since they’d been forced to land. Now that his shoulders were casually set, Tiral finally looked like a man on a date rather than one taking a difficult exam.

  “Seems dull,” Zev hazarded, longing for Tiral's beautiful ease to continue.

  It was the right response and Tiral relaxed farther, leaning back against the flyer, his gaze slightly distant. After a moment, he looked up at Zev through a curtain of hair and said, “Yes. Terribly. And it made every visit to an art museum into a long inquisition. What year did he paint this? What supplies did he use? Who took him to Central for his first show?”

  Closing his eyes, Tiral smiled a bit, seeming to enjoy the warm sunlight hitting his face. Zev’s heart gave a dangerous thump which he tried to shake off. When he’d heard Tiral’s proposition to help him find a spouse, it had been so absurd that he’d been intrigued. Using all of his knowledge of society’s rich and beautiful, all of the skills he’d acquired from his own promiscuous seasons, he could mold Tiral into someone who could have his pick of heirs.

  Seeing his protégé take the ton by storm was more entertaining than seducing another blushing ingénue out in her first season. But now that they were getting closer to the reality that Tiral might actually have to go on legitimate dates, find out how to really love someone else, it all seemed like fa
r less fun than promised.

  Perhaps, he reflected, watching Tiral stretch back his head for another long swallow of water, it was merely that Tiral was not actually his protégé any more than Ovi was. Tiral was unique, and Zev could see him gleaning what he could from the lessons — which conversational topics were safest for him, how to keep himself seeming interesting — while still being entirely himself. If he did make the match he needed at the end of the season, it would be mostly by his own hand; Zev would deserve very little credit for it.

  The thought of it made an angry knot form in his chest. He wondered if it was just the idea of the privileged marrying the rich, further consolidating their own wealth and power as they had for generations, or if it was the memory of his own disastrous first season. No, the less he thought about that the better. It definitely couldn’t be that he wished any ill to come to Tiral.

  For all his faults, Tiral was the most blameless of his class that Zev had met. He was practical in ways that the lovers Zev had taken weren’t. He made Zev see something he shouldn’t.

  Tiral cracked open one eye and looked at him. “Too boring? A repeat of your own schooling?”

  “I didn’t go to school,” Zev said suddenly. The revelation was as startling for him to make as it evidently was for Tiral to hear. Tiral opened both eyes and straightened up, his gaze curious.

  His mouth formed a question, but Zev could tell Tiral wasn’t sure how to phrase it. He remembered Tiral’s earlier insistence that he didn’t want any information Zev didn’t give freely.

  Swallowing, he said, “I went to state school with my brother until I was old enough to go into trade. I think my mother wanted us to go to university, but I didn’t think it necessary. My brother did go, though.”

  He said the last with some pride. Nosre’s accomplishments had been paid for with his money when the corporation had begun doing well enough that he could afford to pay for things like private tutors to help Nosre with his exams. It was a source of satisfaction to know that Nosre had kept up with his classmates. That Zev had provided him with the opportunities that he himself had been denied.