Taji From Beyond the Rings

by R. Cooper

  Taji felt distinctly wrinkled, rumpled, and unarmed. “Should I go change?”

  “Straighten up,” Lin barked, not at him, but Taji jumped along with everyone else. Markita hurried over to Rodian as if he needed assistance directing the pallet. The others abruptly stood at attention. Nev appeared, and Taji noticed that everyone on the team had taken positions on either side of the ramp.

  He realized why when the movement in the distance finally caught his attention. A party of Shavians were heading directly for them, three in the lead, three behind. The last three looked to be servants. The first three were harder to read. Two of them were a step behind someone who had to be the highest ranking one. That one wore no visible knife and had a simple soria, although the accessories they had chosen spoke of wealth. A thick black braid swung behind the tall body, cuffed with metal bands. They wore no shimmer, but a multitude of bracelets decorated their wrists and ankles. They were barefoot beneath a red skirt, like the Koel servants had been, but this did not seem to be a servant.

  On the gray beach, this one stood out, even without an escort of servants and two Imperial Guards.

  They stopped at the foot of the ramp, with the rest of their team stopping several yards behind and swept a thoughtful look over each of them before lifting their chin. “Ambassador Tsomyal?” they called up delicately, and Taji turned to see the ambassador at the top of the ramp with Trenne.

  Trenne was his usual stone-faced self, though exhausted enough to stare at Taji for a few seconds. The ambassador was in black robes, which, though fitting for IPTC, made Taji the only one of the team not entirely dressed in black. If not for his boots and Trenne’s jacket, he wouldn’t have had any.

  Taji sighed heavily and the Shavian in red glanced at him, although their brief interest was nothing to their tiny start when they focused on Trenne. Taji stiffened. Nadir and Nev did the same. Lin sneakily poked Taji’s side, probably reminding him to shut up.

  Trenne was a silent watchdog at Tsomyal’s back. He gave no sign that the reaction from this new delegation bothered him.

  The Shavian in red recovered quickly enough to present a smooth face to Tsomyal as the ambassador stopped in front of them.

  “Apologies for not being here to greet you upon your landing. We were only recently informed of the emperor’s visit.” If that was true, they didn’t seem very flustered, but Shavians rarely did.

  “I hope we’re not inconveniencing you.” The ambassador could be just as blank, but the leader of their welcoming committee inclined their head respectfully.

  “Olea Rinnah is pleased to welcome you, and offers her apologies, once again, for not properly preparing for your arrival. She is looking forward to speaking with representatives of so powerful an empire.”

  Taji fought not to lift his eyebrows. The difference in message from the emperor’s was striking, even if this one was possibly insincere.

  The new Shavian continued, “I am Mos, friend of Olea Rinnah, and now you.” Their eyes were startlingly light green, their skin a mellow brown with hints of yellow beneath. Their gaze skipped to Trenne again, then away. “We were not told much of your party, I am sad to say, but accommodations will be made if you have a moment to tell me your needs. As we wait, we should get you out of the cold.” Their skirts rustled in the rising winds, but they had no coat or robe. Taji glimpsed the hilt of a knife hidden at their waist and felt vaguely as though he’d seen them naked without their permission. It also, he thought, meant he should use she when talking to her, but he wasn’t completely certain. “Rinnah would speak with you over tea, or midye if you prefer.”

  Tsomyal nodded slowly, perhaps in answer. “The emperor has not yet arrived, you said?” Taji was not awake enough yet to handle possibly secret meetings with the emperor’s sister before the emperor arrived. “My assistant,” Tsomyal went on, startling the life out of him, “is fond of tea.”

  Taji swallowed as he lowered the cup. “If Olea Rinnah would permit it, I would enjoy having tea with her,” he responded dutifully. It seemed like the answer he was supposed to give, providing a nice, polite way for Tsomyal and Rinnah to meet or talk or plan a coup. Honestly, Taji had no idea. What he did know was that Mos visibly paused when he spoke, slightly taken aback.

  He belatedly noted that Mos was wearing an older model IPTC translation device at her ear, and then that he wasn’t wearing his. There went concealing how much ‘Asha he spoke. Hopefully, the Shavian nobility around him would be flattered. He smiled politely and did not offer to shake hands, since the gesture confused Shavians who were, in general, always armed. “Taji Ameyo.”

  A glance at Tsomyal seemed to indicate he hadn’t messed up too badly, although he’d never needed to give his name before.

  “Ah.” Mos gave him a stiff imitation of a human smile. “Perhaps you can help us.” She stepped back and gestured elegantly for the ambassador to walk with her. The Guards with her briefly hesitated when Nadir and Nev moved to flank the ambassador. The servants went to the pallet of gear and luggage, only to stop when it was clear they weren’t needed. Finally, Taji wasn’t alone in being confused.

  He cleared his throat and followed a few steps after the ambassador. Lin stayed right with him, close enough for Taji to shoot her a questioning look, which she ignored. The servants stayed back with Rodian and Markita, along with one of the Imperial Guards.

  “How can I help you?” Taji asked, very aware of his accent when he spoke modern ‘Asha, which was a mix of Trenne’s accent and Lin’s. Two lower class accents probably wouldn’t promote the ambassador’s standing.

  If Mos noticed, she didn’t comment. “We brought two fliers, one for Tsomyal Arte and the other for her servants.”

  “Their,” Taji corrected quietly. ‘Asha had several gender-indistinct pronouns Taji was still attempting to differentiate, but the ambassador was small and wore no visible knife, so Shavians sometimes made that mistake. “And Tsomyal does not have servants.”

  “Apologies.” Mos put a hand to her chest, a gesture Taji hadn’t yet encountered here. She spoke softly, although every Shavian present could likely hear her. “If you please, how many have you brought with you and what are their needs? Does Tsomyal require anything particular in their quarters?”

  “The ambassador does not like the cold.” Taji looked at Trenne, since Trenne would know about his team’s needs and should be the one to answer. “We have six soldiers with us, seven including the pilot. Any rooms will be fine, as long as they are close to Tsomyal.”

  “And you? Do you share the ambassador’s bed?” Mos asked smoothly, and Taji shut his mouth with a snap. Lin was probably cackling internally.

  Taji looked to Trenne’s back, taking in the flick of his ears. “No. I—no.”

  He had a second to wonder if people had assumed that the whole time, but Mos hardly paused. “You will need your own rooms.”

  “Rooms?” Taji’s voice rose. “I do not think that—”

  “Yes, he does,” Lin interfered. Her tone was oddly respectful. Taji nearly twisted around to gape at her. “Taji Ameyo also does not deal well with the cold, but comes from a culture that does not allow him to ask for what he needs.”

  “I understand. You have no servants except for your guards?” Mos inquired, gaze on Taji. He shook his head and half-heartedly waved at himself, his plain clothing. Instead of nodding in understanding, Mos focused on his coat, then blinked. “I will see to your care,” she assured him, then turned to lead them all toward one of two fliers. One was clearly of better quality, and meant for Ambassador Tsomyal. It had windows to allow its passengers a view of the sea. But they both had steps to board them, instead of a ramp or a lift. Taji was already bracing himself for the short climb.

  “This way, Ambassador.” Mos graciously extended a hand to assist the ambassador into the first flier, but Trenne was there first, scouting the interior. “If you please.” Mos directed her attention to everyone else without any obvious offense over that. Nev and Nadir conside
red the second flier, then turned to Taji—or more likely, to Lin, who was behind him, a clear question in their eyes.

  Taji doubted that the Olea would fly them all the way out here just to separate and murder them. They could have done that in the capital whenever they wanted. A handful of IPTC soldiers couldn’t fend off the entire Imperial Guard.

  Thankfully, Trenne reappeared. “Nadir, Nev, keep an eye on the gear once it arrives. Stay in contact.” He looked at Taji, and at the stairs, and then waited with a deliberate, patient air. Apparently, Taji was going to ride with the ambassador instead of with the others.

  Taji rolled his eyes but shuffled forward. “I can walk up a few steps, Trenne.” Nonetheless, he let Trenne take the cup of tea from him, and grabbed Trenne’s arm and held it in a white-knuckled grip as he made it up the stairs. Trenne returned the tea after Taji barely kept from collapsing into a seat, then loomed over him in concern.

  Since a glare wouldn’t be enough to convince Trenne he was fine, Taji made a show of sipping his tea. “Thank you for not picking me up this time.”

  “If you need it, I will.” Trenne gazed down at him in a way that reminded Taji whose coat he was wearing. But he wasn’t in the mood to give it back and Trenne didn’t ask.

  Mos appeared behind him, her remaining Guard at her back. “The ride is not long, but you will have a chance to view much of the original palace if you choose. Do you need anything else before we leave, Ambassador Tsomyal?”

  Tsomyal turned to look at Mos, then shook their head. Mos waved the Guard in, and the Guard closed the door behind him before he sat down. The seats—which were not IPTC but pretty clearly influenced by them—were arranged by the windows, but so that some of them faced each other. Taji briefly wondered what seating had been like in Shavian fliers before human influence, if they had laid down or sat on the floor even when in the air. But that was probably his nerves.

  He glanced out to the ocean. Mos stopped to speak to the pilot and adjust something on the control panel, then took a seat close to Tsomyal. She had yet to address Trenne or indicate if his presence on this flier bothered her, so Taji nodded toward the seat next to him and shot Trenne a quick smile when he sat. He waited until the engines had started up to speak. “Thank you for my tea. I know this wasn’t Lin’s idea.”

  Trenne stared at him as if Taji had suggested something lewd or radical, and it got worse when Taji pushed the cup at him.

  Trenne was fucking exhausted and they both knew it. Taji might not be great at diplomacy, but he knew enough to sit there in silence until Trenne accepted the tea and took a begrudging sip. “Thank you,” Taji told him smartly, perhaps even smugly, before turning to look out the window as they ascended.

  He didn’t want to appear like a green recruit from a backwater planet, but the view was amazing—and slightly terrifying. He reached out and Trenne handed him the cup to hold, which was probably better than Taji grabbing Trenne’s arm again. “Look at that.”

  “Daunting, yes?” Mos remarked. “Imagine crossing it in primitive fliers or ships. The original families were brave.”

  “The palace overlooks this, does it not?” Tsomyal did not raise their head to look out a window.

  “Yes, from this side.” Mos nodded. “The palace itself stretches across the top of the cliff, but the Olea claim the entire district, including the farms in the valley below and the forest beyond that.” The forest was huge, and a natural defense. It was no wonder that in all in the infighting among the noble families, the Olea’s home had never been taken.

  Through the opposite window some of the writing on the cliff face was visible, although still not clear enough for Taji to read. But he could see worn down, partly eroded stairs carved in the rock, and breathed a little faster.

  The palace was very old, he realized. He would be surrounded by Shavian history. He reached, one-handed, for his data device, but then forgot it as the flier circled up and suddenly the walls of the palace were in sight.

  The original walls, possibly, or close to it, were of a vastly different style than the homes in the Garden District Taji had seen. Along the original walls were stairs and turrets and towers, but beneath that, rising and disappearing and almost hidden, were staircases that spiraled down, and small, clear domes, and archways of stone with more stairs that led to places he could not see.

  The Olea had not built this in praise of trees, but of rock. It was beautiful, if unexpected. The only thing that did not surprise him were the white walls that contained it. They had been extended at some point in their history, newer, brighter stone encircling the old.

  He couldn’t see into the valley but doubted he’d be able to visit it.

  “Olea Rinnah will be happy to speak with you if you are able.” Mos was all business as the flier swooped down for a landing. “If not, rooms will be made available to you while we prepare proper quarters for you and your people.”

  “When is the emperor expected to arrive?” Tsomyal sidestepped giving an answer.

  Mos lifted a hand, as if to say she had no idea. “Larin Emperor does not answer to me, or to his sister.”

  “Of course.” Tsomyal pinned Mos with their steady black gaze. “And the Koel?”

  Mos inclined her head. “Have also begun arriving.” The flier touched down gently, and then the door was opened before the engines had been fully silenced. An array of brightly dressed servants were waiting, all of them barefoot, with no sign they felt the cold.

  Mos descended the steps, then stood in readiness just outside. She gave the servants a warning look as Trenne came down the steps, but it didn’t stop several of them from staring as he stood at rest outside the door. Taji climbed from his seat to offer Tsomyal his arm, although he wasn’t much steadier than the ambassador. Tsomyal waved him off, but when they stepped out, accepted Trenne’s assistance without any fuss.

  The servants fluttered back. Mos gave instructions to two of them, who left.

  “Sergeant Major Trenne,” Taji said, because the Shavians might not understand the title but they would recognize that Trenne had rank if it killed him. But he didn’t say it ‘Trenne Sergeant Major’ because they seemed to recognize Tsomyal’s title when it was used in IPTC’s standard fashion. Trenne gave away his surprise with a twitch of one ear, but once again offered his arm for Taji to use as a brace. He was very warm to the touch, even without a coat. “Thank you,” Taji told him, for others to hear, and blithely ignored the warning in Trenne’s gaze.

  “Perhaps we will take a short time to rest,” the ambassador carried on, turning to Mos and leaving Taji and Trenne to their silent argument.

  Which Taji won, not that he was keeping score. But when he took a step and his leg made him stumble, Trenne reached out to steady him, and Taji got to publicly thank him again. “Thank you, Sergeant Major Trenne.”

  Nothing overly effusive, and Taji was certain he was as professional as he was capable of being. But the servants continued to stare, as did Mos, as she escorted them to a small set of rooms.

  OLEA RINNAH had the same black hair as her brother, but cut shorter, and some soft-looking fuzz at her cheeks and at her neck. Her soria was a pale, blushing pink, a stark contrast to the deep color of her skin. Her arms were bare, except for a cuff above her elbow, although she did not appear to favor jewelry, not as Mos did. She was barefoot, which was fascinating, and in loose pants.

  She greeted them from her seat at a small table of green wood, in a room that was tiny by Shavian standards and which felt intimate for that reason. And it was a proper room, not an open space. Maybe the palace had been built to conserve heat because of the cold ocean air, or the style was closer to what it would have been across the sea before the conquest of this continent.

  The walls were draped in soft greens, the air smelled of a sweet spice, and the floor was heated. Taji’s favorite part was the lack of weaponry and then the plush cushions they were given to sit on. His tea was served over ice, but he didn’t mind too much now that he’d ha
d a chance to rest.

  Over the past few hours, Taji had a chance to clean up, and more importantly, eat. He could tolerate almost anything now, even the surprise that Olea Rinnah sat with a translator or a comm cuffed to her ear, with a data device on her lap in the middle of her ancient palace.

  Mos, who still had not given a family name, as if she was a servant after all, did not sit with them. She—the word she had used was sehn, which Taji’s translator always unhelpfully told him meant ‘she’—sat on a cushion several feet behind Rinnah, with her eyes on Rinnah most of the time. When they were not on Rinnah, they were on Taji—or Trenne, by the door. Trenne was, far as Taji knew, now armed only with one knife in his belt. A sign of respect or trust, according to Tsomyal.

  Trenne had not rested. Once the others had arrived, he had left the ambassador in Lin and Nadir’s hands and gone to see to their assigned rooms and all the gear. He’d come back shortly before Tsomyal had announced their intention to try to have a meeting with Rinnah before Larin arrived, and he was wearing his combat knife the way Shavian males were supposed to wear theirs. That was when Tsomyal had asked Trenne to come with them for the meeting, instead of one of the others. Taji had no idea why the ambassador would do that, unless it was some kind of test.