Occasionally, Aralim would miss the ocean. He’d travelled many lands, during his ongoing pilgrimage as a Walker, but he’d spent most of his forty-six years on the sunny deck of a proper sailing vessel. It might have been a weakness he needed to shed, or it might have been a clue to enlightenment. After all, the spirit of the ocean and the spirit of the wind were far more powerful than he.
There was a light rainstorm during the final morning of the month. When it had passed, Aralim opened his glass windows and smelled deeply of the fresh air. On a whim, he chose to leave the mansion on West Corid and walk down to the riverside to enjoy the relatively gentle temperatures. A few of the poorer streets he walked down were full of dripping garments of clothes or bedsheets, and the people who had shorn them waited patiently for their world to dry. It didn’t take long, even with the humidity of the rainforest.
He was returning along Corid avenue when he spotted Miresh, Narr, and two other guards, marching down the street toward the house. He quickened his pace. She would have news of the First Court’s meeting today.
Though his young friend hadn’t made any breakthroughs with her foresight, Aralim had some ideas to help her even as his own schemes continued. Using the diagram of her knife they had drawn after her second vision, that day on the Old Cliff Road near Maykren, Aralim had commissioned the forging of a replica blade. It might not be the same object as her true Focus, but if she was supposed to understand and even magically sense her Focus, perhaps a duplicate would help.
A handful of shirtless children half Miresh’s age went running by Aralim at the corner of their fenced in property, the only thing that prevented his reaching their front walk at the same time as her.
“Aralim!” Miresh said, with a smile. “As Rattar thought, the Emperor called for a meeting today, even though it was his private day.”
“Let’s go inside,” Aralim said. Ko held the door open for the entourage to enter, sending a few other servants to prepare some refreshments for them. It was only a few hours into the afternoon, and dinner wasn’t soon.
While Narr took his usual position in the foyer—he usually patrolled the house each hour—Aralim and Miresh retired to living area. “Where’s Hayan?” Aralim asked.
Ko bowed. “At practice. His performance in Ghanam and Paraclar opens in little over a month.”
“Of course,” Aralim said. Once they were alone, he turned to Miresh.
The young Walker set her lantern staff in the corner. She pulled off the long sleeved silk shawl she wore; a thin, sleeveless white tunic was beneath. “They announced the changes in Court, as you suspected.”
“Who?” Aralim asked.
Miresh lounged onto one of the cushioned rests in the middle of the room. “Muria for First Court, by vote. She was nominated by Rattar.”
“But who for the Second Court?” Aralim sat down on the other large cushions. Muria was not one of the names Mistress Athanu had suggested in private, but one of the ones Rattar had, when Aralim discussed the matter with him in the meditation yard two weeks prior.
“Vas’vir Athanu,” Miresh said. Aralim grinned. “She was nominated by her father.”
“Excellent.” Aralim tried to stifle his excitement as best he could. He had the power to orchestrate changes in state—even Miresh could not match such a claim. And, to boot, Ovoe would owe him reparation for the request resolved.
“The Selected have asked that you present yourself next week,” Miresh said. “They are considering candidates to join the Third Court and hold the empty seat.”
Aralim chuckled. He leaned back into the cushions. He would go see what the Selected wanted, then. “Did you have any visions yet?”
“Still none,” Miresh said. She didn’t know that Aralim was crafting a knife to help her with her difficult task. In Aralim’s mind, her success was inevitable, as was his own. He stood up from the cushions and walked to the window, to look out at the irregular horizon of Rema’s cityscape.