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A Nuisance Though Thou Art

Chapter 14: Epilogue

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

By Maia’s pocket-watch, it was not yet five in the morning when the Fortitude of Rosiro glided over the sleeping city of Cetho and reached the main mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court. Maia descended the steep staircase ahead of the Drazhada armsman accompanying him and glanced around, but there was little to see in the pre-dawn murk.

The courier, Mer Aisava, waited at a polite distance removed from Maia, on alert for either a dismissal or further orders. Just as well, because a long and busy day awaited.

Maia beckoned the courier over. “Please advise Prince Idra that we wish to speak with him and will be waiting for him at the Alcethmeret. After that, please notify the Lord Chancellor of our arrival and tell him that we wish to speak with him once we have concluded our dialogue with the Prince.”

The stiffness of these orders left a sour taste in Maia’s mouth. It would have been easier and felt more natural to simply go to the apartments where Nemolis’ family lived. But Maia was acutely aware of the hour and had no wish to disturb the household after the events of the previous day. Besides, the conversation Maia needed to have with Idra concerned the future of the Ethuveraz and such conversations belonged in the Alcethmeret.

Six years had passed since the last time an airship had brought Maia to court, yet despite the haziness of his memory, he found his way without having to ask for directions. There was hardly anyone to ask in any case — the long, cold hallways of the court lay silent. Maia walked quickly and Eishavar, one of the small number of guardsmen assigned to Cethoree, trailed after him like a shadow.

The Alcethmeret was a stark juxtaposition to those quiet hallways. The staff had clearly been ordered to expect their new sovereign and by their bleary eyes, Maia guessed they had worked through the night. Still, judging by the house steward’s displeased expression, not everything was yet to her satisfaction and she told him in a no-nonsense tone that he could make himself comfortable in the Rose Room while he waited for Idra. It was not a space Maia recognised nor did he consider the decor aesthetically pleasing, but it would suit his purposes.

“Would you like breakfast served, serenity?” the house steward asked. Echelo Eseran, Maia remembered belatedly, the name had sometimes come up in Nemolis and Vedero’s letters.

“No, thank you, it’s too early for breakfast,” Maia replied. I have no stomach for food this morning in any case. “But tea would be appreciated. Chamomile if at all possible.”

“Yes, serenity,” the house steward responded and curtsied deeply, but Maia caught the undertone of reproach in her words.

He supposed he might well have insulted her by suggesting that the kitchen of the Alcethmeret might not have something as basic as chamomile on hand. Or perhaps she simply disliked his face — many servants adopted the opinions of their masters and Maia knew full well whom Eseran had served until yesterday. Whatever the case, Maia let it go. This was not the day to dwell on such trivialities.

Once a young server arrived with a pot of tea, Maia perched himself on the wide windowsill of the window that overlooked the eastern wings of the court and watched the stars fade into the faint band of light that grew at the horizon.

“Prince Idra, serenity,” Eishavar announced and opened the door.

Idra was dressed in the customary l black of court mourning but the clothes seemed to sit somewhat askew on him and his hair frizzed around his temples. For the first time in the entirety of their acquaintance, Idra wore no adornment in his hair nor any jewellery, not so much as a simple hooped earring. On seeing Maia, his face crumpled. Maia abandoned his tea, crossed the room and drew Idra into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Idra.”

“I’m all right,” Idra muttered in reply, but made no move to escape Maia’s arms.

They stayed so for a long while, both knowing that one they stepped beyond the bounds of this room, they would be expected to maintain their composure. But as much as Maia wanted to give Idra the time to come to terms with it all, time was against them. He had already summoned Chavar — a mistake, he realised now. Unfortunately, it was too late to undo it.

“Idra,” he said, shifting back. “Chavar is on his way. I’ll ask him to prepare the abdication papers, which I expect won’t take long. I’ll then sign them in thy presence and —”

Idra pulled away, his red-rimmed, swollen eyes growing wide. “What? Why wouldst thou abdicate?”

“Thy knowest why.”

“Please don’t do this because thou thinkst thou owes my father something.”

Something. No, Maia owed everything to Nemolis. Varenechibel had spent the past six years grudgingly acknowledging Maia’s existence. He had never again permitted Maia at court, but he had at least deigned to provide Maia with a safe haven at Cethoree and once Maia reached his majority, an allowance of an appropriate size for an unmarried nobleman. If not for Nemolis dogged championing of Maia’s cause, Maia probably would have spent the recent years living in rags in some part of the Elflands that even horses could not reach.

“Thou wert Nemolis’ heir,” Maia said. “An thou worriest because thy government would be a regency until thy art of age, I think in current circumstances that’ll be manageable. Thou art fourteen — it’s only a few years. I will support thee, as will Chevar and thy mother.” He tilted his head. It’ll be fine as long as we keep Chevar and Shevean focused on each other, not on Idra. Not an easy task, but it’ll have to be endured. “Besides, what opposition can any detractors mount? Imel is no Drazhada and has only daughters besides.”

“We have cousins! Perhaps only distant ones along the male lines, but they are Drazhada nonetheless and any drop of royal blood will do when someone thinks the throne is there for the taking. Why wouldst thou destabilise the empire with a regency when thou art the emperor’s legitimate, full-grown son?”

“Father never wanted me near the throne and that is known to all. And even when one sets that aside, many won’t welcome an Ethuverazheise emperor with a goblin’s face. Putting a crown on my head more or less amounts to inciting intrigue and revolt.”

“Thou wilt have my support, Maia. From today to the day I die.”

Idra meant it — the earnestness of his face might as well have been carved out of marble. Maia’s chest constricted; Idra resembled his father so closely in moments like this. Unable to face Idra any longer, Maia turned away and paced the room.

“Thou wert raised to be emperor at least. I wasn’t.”

“Thou knowest plenty. Thou art as smart as Aunt Vedero and Uncle Ciris are. Were.” Idra cleared his throat. “Please, Maia. I don’t want to be emperor. I don’t say this out of grief or fear, although I am afraid of what could happen next. I’ve never wanted to be emperor. An I could, I’d become a stable-hand and never enter the Alcethmeret again.”

“Thinkst thou I ever dreamt of being emperor?” Maia snapped, then sighed. He had known Nemolis well enough to recognise that Nemolis too had been apprehensive about his expected ascendancy to emperor and for the first time in his life, Maia wondered if Varenechibel too had once had trepidations about accepting the crown of the Elflands. “A job as a scullery boy would suit me just fine.”

That brought a twitch from the corner of Idra’s mouth, but solved nothing. They were both being childish — what they wanted had nothing to do with the decision to be made. Personal desires did not belong in this conversation. Nor did fear. Nor grief, nor anger nor any other of the half-a-hundred confused emotions Maia flitted between when he thought of his father and half-brothers.

Maia remembered his abandoned teacup and picked it up, but the tea had cooled and become unpalatable. “At the end of the day, only one question matters: what would be best for the people of the Ethuveraz? The rule of a half-goblin, infamously unfavoured son of the late emperor? Or the regency government of the late emperor’s grandson?”

“To me, the answer is plain,” Idra replied. “What must I do to convince thee? Shall we tabulate the list of arguments in favour and against each scenario?”

I don ’t know, Idra. I don’t know anything about how this should go. I shouldn’t even be here and an I could, I would exchange places with Nemolis in a heartbeat.

As much as Maia tried to be rational about this, he could not shake his grief at all who had been lost in the crash and all the possible futures that had died with them. He would never again feel Nemolis’ embrace, or hear Nezhira’s laugh, or groan at Ciris’ sly jokes. He supposed he should at least be grateful that he had six years to get to know his half-brothers. Six years was much better than nothing.

Nemolis ’ kindness and persistence bought those six years.

An Idra is adamant he doesn ’t want to be emperor, I can pay Nemolis kindness forward and not force the crown upon his child.

“Would that I had thy certainty, but so be it. I won’t abdicate,” Maia said. He wished he had something more to say, but the words would not come to him. He tried to summon a smile instead and failed at that also.

Idra, for his part, sucked in a breath. “Thank you! Truly, I can’t thank thee enough.”

“Don’t be too thankful, thou art still my heir,” Maia replied. He paused to consider what needed to be done next and added, “Wouldst thou do me a favour? Wait with me until Chavar arrives.”

Idra nodded and they settled into armchairs by the fireplace. Quiet fell between them and lingered for some minutes. Idra was accustomed to Maia’s quiet even on a normal day, but today of all days, both of them had much to ponder and much to grieve. Looking at Idra’s clothing and frizzing hair, Maia wondered if Idra had gone to bed at all or if, like Maia, he had been awake through the night. He wished he could tell Idra to leave, to go back to his family apartments and eke out what hours of sleep he could manage. But the business of governance would not wait that long.

“Was Naela aboard the airship too?” Maia asked.

Idra sighed. “He was, and the new secretary too. All of grandfather’s edocharei, nohecharei and secretaries. Nazhira and Ciris’s men too. Plus armsmen and the airship crew.”

“How can such a thing happen?”

To that question, Idra had no answer.

I will pray and light candles for Naela. No, for all of them. It matters not whether I knew them or not.

Maia fidgeted with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt, then caught himself and brought his hands under control. These were not hands worthy of an emperor. He had yet to succeed at growing his nails to a length expected of a nobleman and his fingers were stained with splotches of blue ink. Nonetheless, amid the ink stains that bore the testaments of letters Maia had been writing the previous evening and would now never send, was his signet ring.

Maia stretched out his fingers. While Varenechibel had granted Maia the privilege of a personal seal when Maia turned sixteen, he had rejected the design Maia selected. The ring instead depicted a rather uninspired Drazhadeise cat up on its back legs. Well, his father was dead now and Maia was not obligated to live by the man’s whims any longer. He would make changes. The signet ring would be among the first.

“The lord chancellor, serenity!” Eishavar announced and Chavar strode in before Maia had the time to acknowledge the pronouncement.

Chavar was freshly groomed, but had the heavy eye bags of a man who had spent the night awake with his thoughts. He bowed to Maia — sharp, deep, yet indifferent. But his eyes lit up as he spotted Idra.

“Please have a seat,” Maia said and was amused to witness Chavar’s spark of hope wither. If Maia was the one taking charge now, it was sure to mean that Maia, not Idra, would take charge for all days hence.

“Our deepest condolences on your loss, serenity,” Chavar said while he took the seat Maia had motioned towards. Maia doubted the man was sincere, but Chavar made a tolerable effort of sounding like he meant his words.

“We extend our condolences to you in turn, lord chancellor,” Maia replied. “After working so closely with our father for many years, we are certain your grief at his sudden passing is as sharp and deep as it is for the Drazhada.”

Chavar was an experienced and a talented courtier, but Maia caught the flicker of surprise that crossed his face before he remembered himself enough to say, “Thank you, serenity. How may we serve you today?”

Thou art a person like any other, Uleris. How can I fail to acknowledge that? In sooth, this promised to be a difficult relationship. Although Maia and Chavar had never previously met, Maia knew what policies Chavar was reputed to favour and how he viewed goblins. His elation at Idra’s presence in the Rose Room was another telling sign. Maia sensed he would need to find a new chancellor quickly, but in the meantime, he needed to forge at least a semblance of a basic working relationship with Chavar.

Maia buried his urge to fidget. “We wish to discuss our coronation and the funeral arrangements.”

Chavar had, of course, been expecting an answer of this sort. If Maia was not abdicating in favour of Idra, what he would want to discuss at this early hour was obvious. Although he showed no hint of enthusiasm for the task, he explained the preparations being made and went over the expected arrival times for the princes and the elder of Maia’s half-sisters. He then paused and frowned deeply.

“Did Arbelan Drazharan travel to the court with you, serenity?”

“She didn’t,” Maia answered, “but we would like her present for the coronation. Please arrange for an airship to go to Cethoree this afternoon.” He turned to Idra. “She’s sure to bring Bizhu with her. It might cheer Mirean a little to know that Bizhu will be arriving.”

Idra chuckled. Mirean had fallen in love Bizhu — now a stout tomcat with beefy cheeks who sauntered about Cethoree in the full conviction that he was the true master of the house — from their first meeting. No letter from Nemolis, Idra or Mirean failed to include an inquiry about Bizhu’s welfare.

“I’ll be certain to tell her,” Idra said, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

Maia nodded but did not let himself indulge in mirth. “There’s an element of the proceedings we wish to address. Namely, the two companions who are to company us to our vigil in preparation for the coronation.”

“Are they to be personages from outside the court, serenity? Do you wish for airships to be arranged for them also?” Chavar asked.

“Thank you, no,” Maia replied, ignoring the needling in Chavar’s question.

There was no sense in being hurt by the truth. While Maia was no longer a shy, friendless urchin, none of his friends were at court. Some, like Sibenar and Emero, were pursuing their university studies. Most, like Maia himself had been, were preparing to start their studies in the spring.

Maia was to have gone to the University of Zhao. He had actually been up late, mulling over which of the university’s three fencing clubs he should join when the Tenacity of Rosiro moored at Cethoree. From that moment, the future Maia had envisioned for himself would never be — no passionate discussions with university scholars, no rowdy fencing clubs, no late-night drinking societies. Only duty, from this day until he had no days left to live.

He shook his head to clear the self-pitying thoughts out of his mind. “We have friends whom we’d be overjoyed to have at our side, but we would be a poor friend to them in asking them to get involved in the murk of court politics and gossip. For we are sure no choice we make will pass without comment and they, not us, will bear the brunt of that commentary. No, we wish to be accompanied by our kin like our great-grandfather was at his coronation.”

“In that case, serenity, your closest male adult relative is Marquess Imel. Beyond that, you have a number of more distant cousins who could be suitable. Our office will compile a list for your consideration.”

“We had three half-brothers yesterday,” Maia said bitterly. “Would that we were so fortunate today. Alas, our male relatives are fewer in number this morning. Imel will have to be one, but we don’t wish any cousins involved. We have no cause to show any of them favour. Prince Idra will accompany us.”

Let them see how tightly Idra and I are bound. Too tightly for anyone to pry us apart and use him against me.

 “I’d be honoured to, but…”

Idra shot him a bewildered look while Chavar seemed to temporarily lose control of his jaw.

“Serenity, the ritual prescribes two adult men,” he sputtered out once he regained something of himself.

“The ritual prescribes two companions, nothing more. Custom, and not an especially old one in the context of the long history of the Ethuveraz, has taught the Untheileneise Court to expect two adult men. It will not profane the ritual to divert from this custom. If you doubt our understanding of the coronation rituals, please confer with the Archprelate and confirm it with him.”

Maia tried not to expose himself to the others in the room while his stomach twisted with another wave of grief. Ciris was the one who explained this to Maia. When Ciris could shift the oblong object ordinarily lodged up his arse, he had been a rich well of well-considered advice and obscure trivia about the history and customs of the Ethuveraz.

Chavar, for his part, must have sensed Maia was not about to back down. “We will speak to the Archprelate, serenity.”

“Thank you,” Maia replied.

It was a pity that Imel, a man Maia would struggle to pick out of a crowd, had to be involved. Maia would have preferred Vedero with him. But Idra’s presence would spark comment enough; a woman’s presence at his side might well drive half the court to apoplexy. Things would change in time, but Maia needed to have patience with the sensibilities of his subjects.

“Maia,” Idra said softly. “I truly would be honoured to go to the vigil chapel with thee. I take it this is why I was to stay, yes? If so, I had best depart now, lest the court starts thinking that we are to co-rule the Elflands.”

“An that were a possibility.” Maia sighed. As much as it was a comfort to have Idra in the room, it was unkind to force Idra to stay. “Please give thy sisters a hug for me. And wouldst thou speak to thy mother and Vedero? I would like to dine with them tonight.”

“I will, on both counts. What about Csoru?”

“Csoru? I suppose she’ll need to be in attendance also. I’ll have an invitation sent.”

Idra bowed and wished both Maia and Chavar farewell when Maia remembered another thing that briefly crossed his mind sometime in the pre-dawn murk. “Idra, wait. When Kirilen retired, he settled in Cetho. Does he still live there?”

“I think so?” Idra replied, his ears twitching. “Why the question?”

“The imperial secretaries and Kirilen’s replacement perished with our fathers. I will need new secretarial staff. Someone experienced like Kirilen would be ideal, even if for a short time only.”

“That’s a fine idea. I’ll request for a courier to be sent to summon him to the Alcethmeret.”

With Idra gone, Maia and Chavar broached the conversation of the arrangements for the funeral service that had to take place. But they didn’t get beyond agreeing on a date when there was a knock. Eishevar opened the door a crack and slipped inside.

“We beg your pardon, serenity,” he said stiffly. He was probably as overwhelmed as Maia felt at finding himself at the centre of the court; Maia would need to find a spare moment and speak with him before the end of the day. “There’s a lieutenant here who says he has been ordered by Captain Orthema to present himself to you. He insists that it cannot wait until your current audience has concluded.”

“If he’s from Orthema, he’d be your nohecharei,” Chavar said.

“Ah. Then the man is right, it cannot wait. Please let him in.”

The lieutenant’s uniform gleamed with a perfection that could only be achieved from hours of scrubbing and polishing. Maia guessed he was another who had gone without sleep this night. Yet the man showed no hint of tiredness as he went down to his knees and declared, “We are Lieutenant Deret Beshelar, serenity. We are at your service if it so pleases you.”

“Well met, lieutenant,” Maia responded. “Please rise. We…”

What was he to be named now? He could not be crowned Maia Drazhar — that did not have nearly enough syllables. Not Varenechibel either. Most certainly not Varenechibel. Even Nemolis had not intended to continue that tradition, he had told Maia as much. But it had seemed like prying then to ask which name he would take. Maia now wished he had been rude enough to pry.

For a moment, Maia considered fashioning some portmanteau out of Chenelo and Nemolis’ names, but nothing came to him that did not sound ridiculous. He mentally ran through the names of earlier dynasties. Setheris Nelar had smacked him with a ruler if Maia faltered in his recitation and a decade later, the names were firmly etched in his mind. Still, he almost despaired as he rejected one possibility after another until one left his breath caught in the hollow of his throat.

“We are,” Maia said, “to be Edrehasivar Zhas, the seventh of that name.”

Notes:

So this was the last chapter. I hope it wasn't too much of a downer; what fluff there is turned out to be bitter-sweet.
Looking back at the fic... coming up with names for the airships was unexpectedly fun, but TGE-appropriate character names vex me. I'm also a little sad that the envisaged scene where Nazhira and Nemolis take Maia to see his mother's tomb (to visit all their mothers' tombs in reality) didn't end up fitting anywhere in the story.