by Kai Butler
“What did he study?” Tiral asked.
“Classics and business,” Zev said. “He does enjoy an epic poem. On that he differs from you or me.”
“There are some poems that are quite thrilling,” Tiral said, offering a safer topic of conversation. “Long, but some parts make the heart race.”
”None of the Early Empire poet-kings, I imagine. Routi has been accused of many things, but exciting he was not. Perhaps Aeclesides and his steed?” Zev guessed.
Tiral grinned. “I may have insisted on a horse when I was younger. Luckily, my mother managed to convince me that no modern horse could live up to that star-chaser, and I must be satisfied with a small hobbyhorse that I made gallop all over the stairs.”
“I’m sure the groundskeepers were quite grateful,” Zev said.
“Actually, it was my nanny at the time,” Tiral said. “She had seen someone thrown as a child and it was quite traumatic.”
Zev was saved from a response when someone called out from across the field. “‘Ey! 'Ey, you!”
It was a man on a small mechanical tractor, drawing a trailer behind him. Zev waved at him, hoping that he would be saved from having to speak at the same volume. He turned to Tiral, who was wiping his hands on his shirt, making a face at the stains.
“We are saved,” Zev said.
Tiral smiled back and pushed away from the flyer, as the man’s vehicle trundled across the field, finally stopping nearby. The man was stout, and his face was red from years in the sun. He tipped back his hat and frowned at them.
“What’re you thieves doing in my field?” he demanded.
Raising both eyebrows, Zev said, “Thieves—”
Tiral interrupted, “My good man, our vehicle has had a breakdown. I am the Earl of Gret—”
“No, you ain't,” the man asserted. He leaned back in his vehicle, watching the two of them. “You’ve come into my fields, probably because that old nodcock down the road told you to, and you’re up to a nefarious purpose.”
“I assure you,” Tiral said, and Zev hid a laugh at the strained patience on his face. “I am Lord Gret, and we’ve broken down. We’d appreciate a lift to somewhere with better reception, and we’ll happily get our vehicle towed back to the city.”
“Dressed like that? Erit, you hear that?” He addressed his comment to the back of his vehicle, and Zev realized that there was a young woman sitting in the back. “‘E wants me to believe he’s an earl! If earls dress like that, I’m a duke, what about you?”
The woman stood and leaned over his shoulder to examine the scene. “I think I’d like to be a countess,” she said agreeably. “’E does look like a lord, though.”
Zev straightened when he realized they were talking about him. He cleared his throat. “What my man meant to say was that I am Lord Gret. We’ve broken down and my… driver here has been trying to fix the flyer to no avail. If you are able to take us anywhere that has a proper signal, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement on rewarding such charitable behavior.”
Beside him, Tiral was turning an interesting shade of pink that Zev found both hilarious and delightful. The man’s inability to take his own artificial demotion endeared him all the more to Zev.
“‘E certainly talks like an earl,” the man acknowledged. “But I don’t take much stock in credit.”
“Ah,” Zev said. He felt through his pockets and pulled out a few coins that he kept on hand for tipping. He held them out to the man. “Let us treat this as a deposit, then.”
Money in hand, the man was much more agreeable. He was even able to hitch the flyer to his tractor and tow them to a small farming village nearby.
Forced to sit in the back, Tiral muttered to Zev, “Driver?”
“I did tell you that clothes matter,” Zev said lightly. He took his seat next to the farmer, only glancing back to check that the farmer’s daughter was keeping her hands to herself.
12
The next couple of weeks were more pleasurable than Tiral would have believed possible while he was getting ready for the season. Zev showed him areas of the city that he’d never been to and even rented a flyer to replace his broken one to take them over the forests of the Southern Hemisphere. It was the sort of thing that he knew he should be taking notes on: ideas for where to go, how to present new places to your date in order to make it feel special for them.
However, the reality was that it felt special to him. He couldn’t explain how it felt when Zev’s whole focus was on him, his quick mind able to keep up with Tiral’s slightly disorganized ramblings. It was the first time in years that Tiral felt heard.
“You make it sound simple,” Zev joked.
“The reality is that Bacarian crystals are a finite resource. Eventually the mines will run dry. There’s some rumors that her Imperial Majesty’s government has underplayed how dire the situation actually is,” Tiral said. “However, I found some work-arounds that might negate the need for them altogether.”
“Truly?” Zev asked, his eyes lighting up. “How did you manage that?”
“With some difficulty,” Tiral admitted. “But the math holds up when —"
He stopped. He was getting too close to describing the new engine, the one that he’d told Rexe wasn’t ready for anyone to view yet, much less to be bandied about as an answer to the crystal shortage. Shaking his head, he waved off Zev’s question. “To be frank, I’d rather keep it close to my chest until it’s ready for publication.”
“Of course,” Zev said. He didn’t seem hurt by the demurral, but Tiral wondered if this was how he worked the rest of the time, leading his lovers to reveal things they’d lief not.
“I’m amazed you were able to find a real horse,” Tiral said, changing the topic quietly. They were riding in an actual carriage, the horse in question pulling them around a park at an easy pace.
“You did say it was a dream of yours, and who am I to deny a man his heart’s desire?” Zev teased. “Actually, my brother mentioned it at dinner the other day. He was considering investing in the animals. Having a bit of a resurgence among the wealthy.”
“Really?” Tiral couldn’t help the excitement in his voice. If there were more of them, he might even be able to convince his mother that stabling them at the estate would be à la mode.
“Are you considering buying in while the price is still low?” Zev asked.
“More wondering if I can convince my groundskeepers about it,” Tiral said.
“Convince them, my lord? I thought as the Earl of Gret, it was your grounds they kept?” Zev pointed out.
“Tell that to my mother,” Tiral muttered.
“Your new husband will have a rough time with the dowager countess?” Zev asked.
“No, I’m sure my mother will be thrilled at my spouse, but things went on as they did after my father died for some time. My brother was rarely at home, as I understand it, and I think my mother’s become rather… entrenched,” Tiral said.
“Lucky for your spouse,” Zev said, allowing them to move onto easier topics.
Arriving home, Tiral found a call from his sister waiting and went into his study to answer.
“Edah!” he said, seeing her pale face. “What happened?”
“The most treacherous thing!” she said. “Some housebreaker positively looted the manor!”
“Have you called the authorities?” he asked, stunned. Although he was sure there was some crime, he’d never heard of anything worse than poaching in the manor’s forest, an actual burglary was shocking. “Are you and Mother safe?”
“Yes, yes, the constabulary seems to believe he was merely after the jewels, but mother keeps those in a safe and he didn’t go near that!” Edah’s voice was rising. “And Renn, the traitor, is sending Mother and me away as the whole matter is investigated.”
“I’m sure it’s for the best; Renn is only looking to your safety,” Tiral said. He glanced down at his screen and saw he had five messages from the man in question, each labeled high prior
ity.
“Well, what would be best would be not sending me away so close to harvest! I’ve been sending you all the updated news, but I can’t control what I can’t see, and if I’m on Lus, then I can’t possibly make sure that things are running smoothly,” Edah said.
“I’m sure that the farmers are able to pick up your ideas without you in the field with them —" he broke off. “Did you say on Lus?”
Sensing weakness, she grinned wolfishly. “Oh, yes! Renn thought we needed to get far away since he’s convinced the housebreaker didn’t get what he was after. He might come back and harm Mother or me in order to find whatever he was after!”
“But why not head to a neighbor's? Or even Central?” Tiral asked, trying to sound helpful. He kept his fingers laced together in front of him, not wanting to give any sign of anxiety.
“Mother wanted to make sure you were doing well and offer whatever support she could,” Edah said, her eyes narrowing. “But as you, also, seem to think we might be in the way…”
Pursing his lips, he saw the trap she was trying to draw for him. He didn’t want them on Lus, but the other option was going against Renn’s forceful suggestion and leaving them potentially in danger. A headache built behind his eyes.
“How wonderful it will be to have your support during this trying time,” he said eventually. “I am grateful that I’ll have Mother’s guidance.”
“Truly?” Edah said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “I’m sure it’s our pleasure to be there to help.”
“Call me as soon as you know the travel arrangements,” Tiral said. “I’ll see you soon, but now I must get ready for a ball.”
Her face dropped into more sympathetic lines, and she leaned forward a bit, as though to see him more clearly.
“How are you handling it, Tiral? Have you had any luck? Your messages have been… brief,” she said.
He looked away from her gaze and smiled unhappily. “It’s the same as I remember in some ways. But I know my purpose and I’m confident I’ll make a good match. I’ve hired a tutor of sorts,” he said. “Who’s helping steer me through these unknown waters.”
“Should Mother come? She's convinced she shouldn’t. She said that any spouse would see her as an overbearing dowager whom they would have to fight with at every turn.” Edah made a face, leaning back and looking around as though to make sure that their mother wasn’t around.
Tiral shrugged. He’d had the same conversation with Zev just that afternoon and still wasn’t sure of his answer. “Well, you’re coming now, and I’ll be happier for the company. Edah, I really do need to dress…”
Waving her hand, she said, “Go and get ready. Meet someone tonight and then Mother and I won’t need to worry at all, and we’ll be able to enjoy the season.”
With a final goodbye they both signed off, and Tiral took a moment to read Renn’s messages. They said what Edah had already relayed, but in more detail and with a comprehensive plan of action that made him grateful the estate employed Renn. His mother and sister would be joining him on Lus while the manhunt was on. He didn’t have much time to prepare for their presence, but their safety had to come first. Typing out his reply to Renn, he found himself wondering how he could possibly continue with Zev with both his mother and sister watching him.
That afternoon, with the sun in Zev’s dark hair, Tiral had felt moments away from kissing him. The way they talked felt easy. It wasn’t a struggle like most conversations these days, and it wasn’t as… mercenary as he felt most conversations with potential spouses were. With Zev he wasn’t monitoring his every word to make sure that he came across well, or wasn't dipping into the much longer list of topics to avoid.
He realized he was pressing his fingers to his lips, imagining what it would be like if he was simply on Lus and he’d met Zev. Not as a fortune-hunter, not as an earl, but as Tiral Oican, professor. Shaking his head, he thought that would have been impossible. Zev might have given him a smile and brief conversation at a party, but only on his way to a real prize. Zev’s interest in him now had to be monetary; the profits from the first crop that Tiral had promised would be generous for the hours that Zev had put in as his tutor.
With a small, wistful smile, he climbed the stairs and let his valet dress him for the party. He ate a small dinner at home before calling for his car.
The ball was the first he’d been to in the weeks since the masquerade. Zev had insisted they come separately, and Tiral hoped it was merely Zev’s way of training him to be more self-sufficient and not because Zev needed his own independence to make a new conquest. Tiral had seen no evidence that Zev was entangled with anyone, but the idea sparked an unhappy ache in him.
“Gret!” Someone called and he turned to see Yancy Reg and his wife moving through the crowd. “Good show, my lord. Everyone has been talking about you for weeks now. You’ve caused a great stir.”
“I hope that that’s a good sign,” Tiral said, forcing a friendly smile. He nodded his head at Reg’s wife. “Mrs. Reg.”
“I think what they’re all talking about is a mysterious stranger who was seen at a masquerade a few weeks ago,” Beria said briskly, acknowledging his greeting with a nod. Her eyes cut to his, calculating. “I would never accuse the Earl of Gret of going somewhere as untoward as a masquerade.”
“Then you do me a great service,” Tiral said, his smile turning more genuine.
She gave him a sly side-eye and glanced about the room. “Quite the crush this evening. Have you had any further luck with finding a partner?”
Reg snorted. “Dear, he’s not going to tell you if he has. You are barely acquaintances!”
“He should! I know a lot of the best gossips! One can rely on me to make sure word gets out if this year’s potentials should be hanging out for him,” Beria said practically. “Although, of course, anything said to me in confidence would be kept secret.”
“She’s quite reliable,” Reg said drily. “Gossips to only the most reliably loose-tongued, and expects you to believe that your secrets will be kept in a vault.”
“Oh, you!” Beria shook her head and tapped at his shoulder with her fan. “As though I don’t know that your clubs have just as much talk, considering that you can find a bet on everything from what Lady Kensi will wear next to how long until Prince Cam breaks off his newest flirtation.”
“Numbers are good on that, if you are a sporting man,” Reg said to Tiral. His eyes were amused, and Tiral thought again of that night of gambling where he’d managed to take most of Deva’s money.
With a small laugh, Tiral waved his hand. “No, no. I’m not a gambling sort. A few hands of cards at parties is my limit.”
“Is that so?” Beria asked. “That’s good to know.”
“You’ve just risen in her esteem. Hates gamblers, because she's married to a terrible one,” Reg said.
“He hopes that I won’t notice that he’s won someone else’s flyer at the tables,” Beria said. “As though I’d not notice a whole new flyer in our garage!”
“Good year, that flyer, nice model. My man says it’s in good shape,” Reg said. “We’ll let you through, though. I can see the hopefuls pulling out their fans from here. Watch for the fluttering ones, those are the ones who are most hanging out for you.”
“I’ll take your advice,” Tiral said. He nodded at the couple and moved farther into the room. The hostess immediately came by, and he was glad that he had asked Rexe make up a dossier for him. He at least was able to reference his sister when he thanked her for her invitation.
“Will Edah be joining you this season? That girl! Positively lovely, a true gem, and won’t let herself be seen in anything other than work clothes. Absolute travesty!” The hostess smiled, and he had to let her have the point.
“She’s told me that she will be here this season, and I can promise my mother will be packing some ballgowns for her,” Tiral said.
“Wonderful. Oh, here’s Mister Ditney. I must thank him for the flowers. His husband has
the most impeccable taste when it comes to gardening.” The hostess left him with a plume of perfume and an airy wave.
Shaking off the feeling of being lost, Tiral searched for Zev and found him watching the crowd from near a fireplace. He was wearing blue, a deep color that made him gleam like he was made of pearl. His eyes caught Tiral’s and quirked up at the corners, the hint of a smile.
Tiral moved around the dancing and conversations until he was next to Zev.
“Mister Yuls,” he greeted, grinning.
“No,” Zev said, shaking his head. “You are shunned, Lord Gret.”
Tiral took a step back, uncertain. He looked around, but no one was near enough to hear them over the music. “Zev —"
Offering a small smile, Zev said, “This is your practicum, my lord. You must be able to charm more people than me in order to make any sort of match this season.”
Surveying the crowd, Tiral felt overwhelmed. It was easier at the masquerade, where Zev had told him who to talk with. Here, he felt as though he was being offered an entire orchard and being expected to pick the perfect fruit from innumerable laden branches.
“There are so many,” Tiral said. He squared his shoulders and tried to find one that looked uncomfortable or awkward. At least he might have that in common with his conversational partner.
With a small sigh, Zev said, “Miss Lins in the green. Start with her.”
“I thought —" Tiral wasn’t sure how to admit that after all his stated preferences, he’d thought that Zev would steer him towards a man, someone he could see a longer future with.
“Let’s start with someone who you don’t have much interest in and not ruin any potential chances if the conversation goes poorly,” Zev said mildly. Tiral glanced at him, and he was shaking his head in amusement.
Taking a deep breath, Tiral nodded and walked towards her.
Watching Tiral move away left Zev with an uncomfortable sensation. It felt less celebratory than he’d hoped it would. Although he’d tried teasing Tiral about why he’d chosen Miss Lins, the joke had fallen flat. Zev realized, a stone sinking in his stomach, that he did want Tiral to be successful, but perhaps not so soon.