A wagon carrying kegs of ale passed along the cobblestone road. Aralim and Miresh waited until it was across, and then strode forward. Narr, with a dark green hood thrown over his head and a formless cloak concealing the hefty sword on his back, stalked along behind them, quiet and watchful. Aralim was a little sore—similar to how he had felt after training with Grendar on the deck of the ship a few months ago.
“It gets easier,” Miresh said, sensing his discomfort.
Aralim grinned. “Oh, I’m no stranger to a bit of hard work,” he said. “Twenty years a fisherman, remember?”
Miresh nodded. They had been training at the Yoreen Square today. It had been Aralim’s third session with Master Toka. A lot of it was holding uncomfortable poses until his muscles trembled. He had only used any of these poses once, in a fight that could barely be described as such. It had been a slow exchange of motions and counter-motions.
Soon enough, the trio reached their home on West Corid Avenue. The small gate had been propped open with a small grey stone, and torches had been lit along the path to the front door. Tonight was the dinner with Riela’s family, and Ko’nagar had pulled out all his tricks.
They had only just gone upstairs and changed, when Hayan’s betrothed arrived. While Arith was announced by one of the servants, Aralim was walking down the steps from the second storey. He had donned one of the other robes that he had found in the wardrobe when the Emperor had first given him shelter here. Hayan came out of the sitting room and met Aralim in the foyer.
Arith’s shoulder-length brown hair was tied back and she smiled to Aralim as they exchanged greetings. Then, she glanced at Hayan. “Didn’t you tell him our wedding date yet?” she scolded.
“We’re both very busy, Arith, I’m sorry! I’ve barely had a chance to speak with Aralim since his return,” Hayan defended.
Aralim chuckled. “I’m sorry I haven’t asked. When is it?”
“The 1st of the 2nd Moon,” Hayan replied, smoothly. “We had it planned for the 1st of the First Moon, but a prominent member of the Second Court was married that day.”
“I don’t see why that should stop you,” Aralim said.
Two of Ko’nagar’s staff took Arith’s cloak and asked if she had any food allergies. She dismissed them with a wave and then turned back to Aralim. “Tradition,” she explained. “And overlapping guest lists.”
“That’s fair, I suppose,” Aralim said, smiling. “I don’t know much about Numa’nakres wedding tradition. Speaking of the occasion, what should I wear to a wedding?”
Hayan’s expression grew grave. “A dress,” he said.
“Oh, stop it,” Arith said, playfully swatting her lover’s arm. “The belal is a formal robe, not a dress. You wear trousers beneath it, by the Smith’s hammer.”
“Save yourself, my friend,” Hayan urged. “Depart Rema with haste!”
Aralim chuckled at his friend’s antics. “Then a fine dress I shall wear, although I’m not sure I have the legs for it.”
The two laughed and started to exit the foyer into the dining room. No sooner had they left than the door from the yard opened again. This time it was Nilless—though Aralim had thought she was upstairs. As he waited for her to change into a pair of indoor slippers, he overheard Arith teasing Hayan again: “What’s the big deal—you’ve worn actual dresses on the stage before…”
Nill advanced into the foyer and smiled. “Aralim, how was your practice with Miresh?”
“Challenging, of course, but interesting nonetheless,” Aralim replied. “How was your ‘ambassadorial’ work today?” He gave her a wink. He knew only that she had been making weekly appointments with various masters in Rema—scholars, magicians, cartographers, and architects.
“It was great. Have you met Nera? Nera Ryiar?” Nill asked.
Aralim remembered Nera bringing a tome to a social event. She had claimed to have read every book in the city. “Before I left, yes. A very smart woman…. You two would get along quite well, I imagine.”
“Yes, she’s marvelous!” Nill breathed. She ran a hand through her hair as though trying to tidy up for the dinner. “Did you know that when Radregar and Numa’nakres have wet season, it’s dry season on the Great Isle, and vice versa? There’s a few theories for why that happens.”
Aralim paused. “Numa’nakres has seasons?” he questioned.
“Apparently. Though there’s just a season with lots of rain and a season with not as much.”
“We call that a storm back home,” Aralim said, with a snort. To him, seasons were warm and cold, rain or snow. It had been… decades since he had seen snow. He smiled at the memory and started walking toward the dining room with Nill. “So, what causes the shift?”
“Master Viyekelo, a sage from the 1300s, suggested that the seasons are astral bodies that exist within the sky—clouds, the sun, the moon, the stars, all that. Their movements displace one another, like oil and water,” Nill explained. They were pacing through the doorway of the dining room now, where Miresh and Riela were preparing places with dishes. They liked to help the servants. Nilless continued giddily: “But, in 1419, a fisherman named Boko of Keb’kres observed what he described as a line of clouds in the sky that gave him the idea of a seasonal line. A point where the wind and rain meet. With the help of proper scholars in Old Numa, he had a pamphlet published that suggested this band of stormy weather moved north and south across the year. It’s been heavily debated.” She was short of breath by the end and inhaled deeply.
Astral bodies that displaced one another across the sky? That sounded like spirits that had advanced far along the Path. “I’m obviously a fan of the first theory. It—”
A servant’s declaration interrupted Aralim. “Master and Mistress Hanez!”
Aralim closed his open mouth and, at a wave from his scholarly friend, turned back into the foyer. “Welcome, welcome,” he said to the strangers that had arrived. “I am Aralim, Walker of the Path.”
“So pleased to meet you,” Mistress Hanez said, extending a jewel-clasped hand to grip his. “I am Wella, Riela’s mother. This is my husband, Master Caever Hanez—he sits on the Third Court as a Selected, like yourself.”
“Wonderful,” Aralim responded. The two looked to share Numa’nakres heritage, and had dressed up in high Rema fashion for the occasion. Aralim wondered if they thought this was a celebration of the Raderan New Year—though, of course, Rema tracked years by His Ascendance’s birthdate.
Caever and Wella sat together, across from Miresh and Riela. Hayan and Arith sat past them, while Aralim and Nill took the head of the table by process of elimination. As the servants brought in their first course—an appetizer of roasted nuts on chewy cassava slices—Wella spoke up once again. “We heard Devran the Chronicler will be releasing a brochure about your journey, in advertisement of a major publication later this year,” she said. “Caever heard from his sources that you encountered trouble on the road; hopefully it did not ruin your experience?”
Aralim shrugged and poured himself tea from a small porcelain kettle. “Trouble on the road is part of the journey. It helped me grow, and I’m thankful for it, as unfortunate as it was.”
Caever blinked in surprise. “We know a man who was killed on such a journey. I don’t mean to play antagonist, but it seems you were fortunate to have the opportunity to grow.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend. The Crimson Highway is only marginally safer than the wilderness…. We were quite lucky—surviving our troubles, then also gaining access to the Eye of Maga. I just wish I could help those who were injured more. Next time, I suppose,” Aralim said. They seemed more concerned about offending the Ambassador, while he only hoped his next brush with danger was more rewarding.
“Hopefully the Path won’t lead you near bandits again anytime soon,” Miresh piped up.
Nill smiled and said, “Here, here!”
“So, Nilless, right? You’re from Tal’lashar?” Wella asked. Miresh and Riela whispered to one another, but were mostly attentive to the adults’ conversation.
“That’s right,” Nill replied, smiling. “This is the farthest I have ever been from home, but, from what I have heard, it pales in comparison to how far Aralim is from his homeland.”
“Yes, but I didn’t have to travel the Crimson Highway. Just a lot of sailing and a few treacherous mountain paths,” Aralim added. He sipped his tea.
They passed the time with various conversations and compliments to Ko’nagar’s chef. The dinner stretched on for an hour as Aralim gauged Caever’s mannerisms and values. The Selected enjoyed his wine—that was certain. Wella was much more conservative with her drinking, but seemed to be a key component of their stately position. When he was on his fourth glass, Caever asked Aralim if had attended many social outings during his time on the Third Court.
Aralim smiled. “I went to an event with Dullah once. A ‘banquet’ hosted by Councillor Moy of the Second Court. It was something, to say the least.”
“Oh, that’s quite a different scene,” Caever drawled, and sipped his red glass again. “Don’t get me wrong, you and I were at the same ‘feast,’ if it can be called that. But not all of us are quite so… er, eclectic.”
Nill eyed Aralim at the cryptic reference to Councillor Moy’s party.
“So Dullah explained. You don’t approve of such habits yourself?” Aralim asked the Selected at his table.
Caever cleared his throat. “If that is how some of Rema’s lords wish to pass their time, then so be it. But such an occasion hardly enables dialogue between lords. It’s all about the spectacle, not the individuals. I prefer to socialize to assert my rank and arrange deals for the future. And to enjoy a good drink with friends, of course.” He raised his glass. Hayan and Arish returned his gesture.
“It’s the difference between looking to display your power and looking for more,” Aralim said. “It’s good to hear you’re not as satiated as Dullah had been.”
“Miresh!” Riela blurted. “Your tattoo!”
Everyone glanced down the table. Riela was staring at Miresh’s shoulder, where her once tranquil cat face now bared its fangs. The ink of the tattoo looked as normal as it had before, like any other similar marking. Nill and Caever gasped at the sight, while Hayan blurted, “Are you well?”
Before Aralim could speak up, Miresh had stood up, plastered one hand over the shoulder to conceal the uncanny sight, and said, “It’ll be fine. Sorry to leave abruptly.” Then she rushed toward the door.
Riela looked at her mother inquisitively, but Wella yielded to Aralim’s decision with raised eyebrows. Aralim stood up, instead of giving Riela or Wella a nod to go after her friend. “I trust Nill can entertain you for a few moments,” he said, then calmly walked after his young friend. Narr, standing in the foyer near the dining room door, accompanied Aralim up the steps without a word.
Miresh had gone to her room, so Aralim knocked and asked, “Miresh?” as he opened her door.
The young magician opened it the rest of the way and let him in. She wasn’t in tears, but did look distraught. “I messed your plan all up, didn’t I?” she asked.
“Not in the least,” Aralim said, smiling to comfort her. “Now, what has you so worked up?”
“It’s stupid,” she mumbled. “I don’t like Master Hanez and I let it show in the worst way.”
“With a moving tattoo?” Aralim asked, stepping further into the room. Miresh kept her living space tidy, her clothes folded on a dresser, and her bed made. A stack of books rested on a table near the window. Aralim glanced behind him, but Narr stood with his back to the door—his way of offering security and privacy at the same time.
“I’ve been practicing that in my spare time, moving the ink around under my skin,” she explained. “I started because they told me young ones shouldn’t get tattoos because their skin is still growing. But then it started to seem like a fun trick, too.” She paused and looked at the floorboards. “I guess I was paying too much attention to not letting my face show how I felt…”
“It’s definitely a good trick!” Aralim replied, but then he sighed. “But you must realize that hating someone so thoroughly is giving them power over you. Don’t you?”
Miresh nodded. “I know. But he’s not a good man, and I can’t just stop caring, even if I am walking the Path.”
Aralim raised an eyebrow. She really didn’t like Caever. “So, we’ll reshape the world to our preference,” he assured her. “But if we do it in anger, it’ll never work. Why do you hate him so?”
Miresh paced across the room, clearly conflicted. At last she found her words. “I swore not to say… but I need to tell someone. A few years ago, he hurt Riela, badly. She told him that she didn’t want to become a politician like him,” Miresh paused, her eyes started to gleam with tears, “and he hit her again and again. He was drunk, you see? And Riela’s mother did nothing, because Caever sits on the Courts which is good for her, too. It hasn’t happened again, but they never talked about it. Aralim, they are worse than my parents. I was… abandoned, but I wasn’t harmed.” After a moment, she said, “That is why Riela started training in Yoreen.”
Aralim was quiet for a moment, surprised by the awful story. “Hmm… so what would you do?”
“I don’t know. I believe Riela when she told me that people come to their house at strange hours, so I had hoped you would find him guilty of crimes. Then we can just tell Tag’na,” Miresh said. “But I may have ruined that because I was too… just mad!”
“Nothing is being decided tonight,” Aralim said. “Tag’na already has his own plans for the gang situation.” He paused. “This is for my curiosity now.… Perhaps I’ll use this as an excuse to visit them at their home?”
“Be careful,” she said. “If they are wrapped up in something, it may be dangerous.”
“Everyone does keep telling me that,” Aralim said, laughing. “I am going to go back downstairs. You can stay here if you like.”
Miresh nodded. Her tattoo still had fangs. “I’ll have to visit Riela at the Yoreen Square tomorrow. I hope she’s not mad.”
“I doubt she is,” Aralim said. He turned to the door and Narr let him out with a grateful nod. Though the Emperor’s Blade spoke little, Aralim suspected that more than a year at Miresh’s side had closely endeared her to him, even as Aralim was to her.
As he walked down the stairs into the foyer, he saw Arith speaking with Caever and Wella at the front door while Nill spoke with Hayan and Riela near the dining room. Aralim frowned and headed toward his leaving guests.
Wella saw Aralim coming and stepped away from Caever. “Pardon our early departure, Ambassador. We don’t want to make things difficult for you or Miresh if she is having trouble with her abilities. We can always meet again another time.”
“That’s all right. Despite not being her father, I still play the role a surprising amount,” Aralim said. “I am disappointed to end our chat so early, though. Perhaps we can talk again over a cup of tea at yours sometime?”
Caever stepped closer. “I’d like that, Aralim,” replies Caever, “We can discuss our separate experiences of the Third Court.”
“Excellent,” Aralim replied, clasping Caever’s hand. “My schedule is a bit hectic just returning to the area, but I’ll sort something out.” Of course, his “hectic schedule” mostly involved him spending days visiting markets and shelters for the commoners, or trying to learn more about the last year from other Councillors.
“Let’s go, Riela,” Wella said, and Riela excused herself from Nill’s company. Aralim gave her a wink as she left by the front door.
Once he was alone with his friends in the foyer, Aralim assured them that Miresh was fine. Then he went back upstairs.