#ebrelle

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Eventually the path’s destination is clear - we’re headed towards his quarters, not mine. When we reach them, he lets me in. It’s not until he closes the door behind me that he speaks.

“The Peacekeeper’s sweep was a necessary step in securing my Palace before an important guest visits on the day after tomorrow. I apologize if he made you uncomfortable, Jhe Lotus.” He pats me on the shoulder, concern on his face.

I shake my head. “I was fine. He is a little intimidating, but I’m relieved not to be picked.”

“Of course you are. Although it is a great honor, I would much prefer you be honored in my service, Jhe Lotus. Tell me, did your former keepers ever let you be swept by the Armed?”

“Never. They hid the merchandise away.” I bite my lip, then look away from the King’s eyes.

“That’s unfortunate,” the King sighs heavily, “but expected. Another matter that’ll have to be brought up at the impending peace talk with the Radiant Empire. I suppose I should tell you more about that, considering you will attend.” Instead of explaining that, he walks further into his quarters, leading me into a study. The walls are light wooden panels carved with trees and birds. Potted plants squat in the corners. In the far wall nests a small fireplace with an iron grill wrought into weaving vines. It’s already crackling. Facing the fireplace are two cushy leather armchairs, and between then is a table with cabinet doors underneath. He takes a seat in the armchair to the left. “Find something that suits your fancy in the cabinet, then pour two of it.”

I bow. I’m relieved to be able to settle into entertaining duties, because they’re familiar to me, whereas being invited of my own free will into the personal retreat of such a powerful person is not. “Thank you, Jhe o’Audiva Rocale.” I attend to the duty, wondering what I might even pick. I’m a little surprised at him deferring to my preference, considering how much more sophisticated his palate must be. Then again, the King would only stock his favorites in his own room, so he’s already made his choices. I end up picking brandy [aww hell, just make up a better alcohol name], something that I’ve had rare chances to sip, and have always felt elegant doing. The cabinet has a set of glasses that I pick two snifters from. I pour the King’s first, then my own.

An awkward silence ensues as the King stares at me, then remembers what background I am from and what I’m accustomed to. “You may take the other seat, Jhe Lotus.”

I do so, trying to hide how much it flusters me. My mind must be wandering. I’m used to attending people, not being the guest. He must only invite people in here who are like Zhevesti, of such high rank that they don’t need to be told what to do. The chair sinks under my insubstantial weight, and I lean back into it. It’s like it’s forcing me to relax. I certainly need the help at this point. The King has me totally off guard.

He raises his glass, then extends it towards me. I raise mine and clink it against his in turn. It’s a tiny gesture, but so powerful. How could I be on the same level as him? He nods to me, then sips, relishing the taste.

I sip in turn, then close my eyes. I’m not used to a taste this fine. A sigh comes out of me, completely unbidden but impossible to hold in.

The King chuckles, shaking his head. “It is a bit presumptuous of me to bring you into a place you’re so unaccustomed to, Jhe Lotus, but I am in a bit of a mood to share. I lost my best falconer today and that has thrown me off my usual path. Indulge my whim.” With that, he takes a longer sip of his brandy, prompting me to follow suit.

His words set me at ease, though, as does the warmth of the drink. This is a bit unusual, but he would be in an unusual mood after today’s events. “I’m sorry for your loss. I was very impressed by how you sent off Jhe Hawksgard. She seemed very happy, even if she is leaving everything.”

“That is my wish. She should look back on Audiva Rocale with favor. The Armed will always have business here, and when they send their people they will likely send someone like Jhe Hawksgard. It would be fortunate for her to be called back to the nest.” He shakes his head. “I admit, I will miss her. I know all of the people in the Palace by name. I follow the goings-on of my household as I should. The falconers are special to me, though. I feel a kinship with them. A falconer understands what an honor and a thrill it is to handle a wild animal while knowing that it is its will whether or not you are bitten or gored. A falconer and her bird work hand in hand with a mutual understanding that goes much deeper than words. It is not control, or taming. A falconer’s bird may be released to the wild with the wild still left in it. It is a partnership.” He sips his brandy again. “I felt that with Faun, once. I think that you may understand it yourself, after you’ve been with him long enough.”

“I hope so. Right now I let him do what he likes and he lets me live.”

“A prudent tactic, but not one tempered towards serious negotiations.” Jhe o’Audiva Rocale looks into the fire, brows drawing together. “Tell me, you must know tea ceremony already. Your serving style thus far has been a very courtly Aurocan one. Are you familiar with the Radiant way of serving it as well, or has that never proven useful to you to learn?”

Tea ceremony is a difficult art due to all its nuances, but it’s remarkably easy to learn the subtleties when you’re punished as soon as you mess something up. Everyone in every country likes tea, and everyone has their little ways of enjoying it. When you serve tea as a lesser person, the act has all sorts of notes of deference and loyalty. Anyone who I’ve been paid to give service to always wants tea served to them in their local style. I have never served a Radiant, and no traditionalist Aurocan wants to pretend to be Radiant. But the people of Astionarche do not observe Aurocan traditions and preferences. Instead, they love to play pretend and show how exotic their tastes are. So I know the Radiant way to serve tea, but I find it strange that the King would want it served to him in that way.  I catered my style to what I assumed his tastes would be. “I am well practiced in it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve served Radiants?”

I shake my head. “Astionarcheans.”

His face sours. “Ah! Of course. They do love to play their games.” He brushes that aside. “I would like you to attend the peace talk with Radia. We are playing host to an important Radiant delegate and I would like to be able to entertain him properly. I feel that your presence would benefit Audiva Rocale’s standing in the negotiations, by showing that Audiva Rocale welcomes any people into her borders, no matter their origin. The Radiant Empire’s countries are all dreadfully nationalist, synthesizing everything from over their borders into their own ways and styles. My empire respects the traditions and origins of all people. Made with tea, it would be an elegant point.”

Mulling that over, I stare into my brandy. I refrain from replying for longer than I expect, and I don’t realize that until I notice that my fingertips have gone white with how tightly I’m holding the snifter.

The King rests his hand on my forearm and gives it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to be so nervous, Jhe Lotus. Would you rather not serve tea?” He pats my wrist as I loosen my grip on the snifter.

“I would be honored,” I say. I actually like the idea of taking ownership of a skill that’s never meant more to me than a reminder of my status. It gives value to what’s happened to me, and all the work I’ve done. I can make it mine as opposed to someone else’s. Some part of me takes such joy in that possibility - it’s like feeling a seed sprout from deep within.

And some part of me wants to prove Jhe o’Audiva Rocale right. Maybe it’s Gerald’s fault, but looking back on Radia makes me angry. He wants me to go back and become Radiant again, to be normal to him again. But am I Radiant? Or am I just myself? Jhe o’Audiva Rocale accepts me, and wants to show a high Radiant dignitary that. What can Gerald say to that? What does he have that’s of any worth to me? I could wonder who the dignitary is, but if this is a peace talk the person won’t be Armed, and thus won’t be my father. Who else would I really care about? I didn’t know any diplomats in Radia. I was eight!

I sip my brandy, and feel the warmth of pride creeping back into me after years of its absence.

“Wonderful. We will have a rehearsal tomorrow evening, then. You’ll report to my tailors in the morning for adjustments to be made to what they’ll have already sewn. For such an important affair, I want you attired properly.” He pats my hand again, then rests his hand on mine as he sips his brandy.

I sigh and sip my own. “I’m honored.” I feel so repetitive, but it’s the truth. I’m honored to even be here, sitting at the King’s side. To be considered important enough to sway negotiations with a rival empire… it almost makes my head swim. But I’m not nervous. The brandy is warm, and the fire is warm, and the King’s hand is warm… but nothing is too warm. Everything is just right. The King’s fingers slide around my hand, and that feels right too. I look over at him and get locked in his gaze.

The fire glints in his eyes, scattering all sorts of colors across them. I’m lost for a moment, dazzled. I’m being drawn in, like a moth. Or maybe it’s just the King leaning in closer. It’s strange seeing his face this close. From far away, the white paint makes him seem like a perfect, unfeeling statue. You can’t argue with stone. Up close, his skin looks soft even under the paint. He seems more human. Like something I could touch.

A light scraping sensation glides over my right ear, the tip of one of his nails. It traces downward until his fingers find the base of my jaw and reach up to stroke my cheek. He guides me into the kiss, a kiss I don’t expect until it happens. His lips aren’t black and white marble. They are warm flesh and skin, soft and just as subtle as his fingers. They tease my mouth open. He smells of conifers and rosemary, and he tastes of brandy and spices. I forget who I am for a moment and press back into him with insistence that doesn’t become my station. He answers with a gentle bite on my bottom lip. His mouth releases me, but his fingers keep my hand in his.

“Would you like to leave this here, or take it to where it wants to go?” His breath is laced with warm notes of the brandy that’s on both of our lips. His voice is almost noncommittal, but I hear the edge of desire underneath it.

He’ll let me go, if I want it. My heart seizes on that freedom. He’ll let me go, but sometime afterward, we’ll still end up in this same place. I’m sure of it. Why prolong the inevitable when it’s what we both want? “Please,” I say, and then I can’t find a word my mouth wants to form. I just lean in and kiss him instead, looking for the flavors I missed the first time around.

He pulls me into his chair and begins to search for the same.