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In the fifth year of his reign, Idra Drazhar ran his fingers over the rose bushes just budding with the warm weather, enjoying the prickle of thorns against his skin. The Corazhas had decided that this summer should be an Imperial tour of the Ethuveraz. The Empress had recovered well from the birth of their second son late last summer, and as Idra had refrained from imposing himself upon her -- there were tonics, he knew, but it was unthinkable that an Empress should take them -- she was not again with child. Two sons and four daughters was quite enough, they both felt.
He heard voices behind him and would have turned, except he recognized them immediately: Hesthet, his private secretary, and his uncle Maia.
It was Maia alone who approached, his boot-heels clicking on the stone pathway. He drew alongside Idra and tilted his head back so that the sun shone over his skin. Idra looked sideways at his lean, slate-gray face, his thick black braids just beginning to have white threaded through them. He was only a few years older than Idra, and had come to live in Idra's father's household when he was eight and Idra was four: they were more brothers or cousins than uncle and nephew.
"So thou'st had a tour inflicted upon thee," Maia said, turning to him when the sun passed behind a cloud.
"For my sins," Idra replied, "which are many and varied, but primarily the sin of being Edrenechibel X."
Maia leaned in close and bumped his shoulder against Idra's. "Think of it this way," he said, and Idra could hear the grin in his voice. "At least the trans-principate railroads were completed last year; thou needst not tour by hopping from mooring-mast to mooring-mast and using a hired carriage to see the villages, over miles of bad road."
Idra sighed, and pressed back into his uncle's shoulder. "Thou'rt coming with me, I hope thou know'st," he said, and was rewarded with the rare sight of the serene and ascetic Archprelate of the Elflands throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. Idra's soldier-nohecharis, newer than his maza counterpart, startled a little; the nohecharei were well-used to Maia's presence, but they were also used to Maia's unflappable calm, not to his laughter.
He used to laugh more, when they were children together, Idra thought wistfully, and there were no nohecharei with them, just two boys at riding lessons, or dancing lessons, or in their shared nursery. When they could laugh and no one else could see.
Idra sighed and shook off the cobwebs of a childhood that was, after all, thirty years past. "I'm quite serious," he said. "My mother isn't coming. I would not do that to thee."
"I know," Maia returned, and sighed, but he was still smiling. "I'm bringing Csevet," he said, not asking, and Idra nodded. He'd expected that; Csevet Aisava was nominally his uncle's own private secretary, but in point of fact, Maia had been having a discreet affair with Csevet at least since Idra had married, and possibly before. Maia's accession to the prelacy had placed him outside of the Imperial succession, but while he hadn't been forbidden to marry, Idra's grandfather Varenechibel had not arranged a marriage for him. Idra's father Nemolis -- Edrenechibel IX -- had asked, when he ascended the throne, what Maia wanted, and had been told that Maia was quite content as he was. Idra was reasonably certain that Nemolis had died without ever knowing about Csevet. "Is my sister coming?"
Maia meant Idra's aunt Vedero, whose marriage had ended before it began when her fiance had broken his neck in a hunting accident. Idra wasn't certain his uncle Nazhira hadn't somehow arranged the accident, and he knew there'd been rumors in the Court to that effect, although if there'd been any proof, surely the dead man's father would have made a fuss about it. Nazhira was fiercely protective of Vedero, even now, and Idra's father had told him that Nazhira had almost gotten himself relegated for arguing with Varenechibel against the marriage. It had been Maia and Nazhira who had persuaded Nemolis to allow their sister to attend the University of Cetho, after her fiance's and father's deaths.
"Yes," Idra said, "the whole thing's being arranged around the summer term, so she's free. Uncle Nazhira is too ill, so he and Csethiro are staying behind. It will be thou, myself, Paru, Vedero, and Idreän, for the family." Nazhira had survived the sessiva that had killed Idra's father, but his lungs had not recovered well. Nazhira's proud, fierce wife was a friend of Vedero's and Idra adored her, but he would not risk her wrath over Nazhira's health for all the wealth of the Empire. As for Uncle Ciris -- well, Uncle Ciris was a terrible traveling companion, and his wife was worse, and everyone knew it.
Maia folded his hands in front of his chest, and said, "Thou shouldst tell Paru and Idreän about Csevet, I think."
"Thou hast always been very careful," Idra said. "I would not know, an thou hadst not told me."
"It is different, when traveling in close quarters," Maia said. "I should not like to surprise or shock anyone."
Idra tried to imagine Maia doing anything more shocking than the briefest brush of fingers across Csevet's sleeve where anyone could possibly see them, and could not. After some thought, it occurred to him that Idreän, whose parents did not share a bedchamber, might well think nothing of barging into her great-uncle's train compartment to wake him. "I take your point," he said, and looked sideways to see Maia grinning again. "Why'rt thou so pleased?"
"I love trains," Maia replied, and draped his arm around Idra's shoulder. "They're a marvel of the modern world. I took one to Thu-Tetar last year and thoroughly enjoyed myself. This will be a delightful trip."
Idra's mother, the widow empress Sheveän, jumped at the chance to be the most important lady at Court again, with Paru gone for the summer. She decided to take Idra's second and third daughters in hand, "rather like an officer training up new recruits," Paru said, drily, making Idra laugh.
One week before they left, he told Paru about Csevet, and she raised her eyebrows and then said, "I cannot imagine that thine uncle is abusing anyone in any way, so I do not see what business I have being concerned about it," which spawned an entire unexpected conversation about Paru's elder brother Eshevis, who had been Vedero's fiance. Idra came away from that conversation convinced that if Nazhira had arranged the hunting accident, he ought to have been awarded a nice little country estate for services to the Empire. Paru had been only thirteen when her brother died, and should have been entirely unaware of her brother's sexual habits -- but Eshevis Tethimar had been both vilely abusive of servant boys and girls and so indiscreet about it that his three younger sisters had all been terrified he'd turn his attention to them, and relieved when he'd died.
Idreän took the news, a day later, in her mother's parlor, with wide-eyed nervousness. "Uncle Maia is marnis?" she asked. "Truly? How -- how am I to act? Am I to be less formal with his -- his -- with Mer Aisava?"
"Thou shouldst treat Mer Aisava just as thou always hast," said Paru, firmly. "Just the way thou dost Hesthet. And of course, thou willst treat thine uncle as thine uncle."
"They are discretion itself," Idra put in. "Thou willst likely not see anything even so affectionate as thou hast betwixt thy mother and myself, but thine uncle asked me to make sure thou knewst, due to the close quarters of the journey, so that thou wouldst not be confused or distressed if thou didst see anything that betrayed it."
"How long--forgive me. It is not for me to ask," said Idreän.
"Since before thou wert born," Idra answered, and Idreän's mouth went round in silent surprise.
"Very discreet," Paru murmured, and Idra realized he hadn't told her how long-standing the relationship was when he'd talked to her. Well, not that it mattered -- she'd only been concerned about abuse -- but he felt a bit like he'd flubbed that one. But Paru was not a vindictive woman, and not given to resentment or anger, so there would not be a consequence of not telling her -- not like there would have been had it been his mother he'd needed to inform. Mother would have made a fuss that could've been heard from the rose garden to the airship moorings.
Idra would not have gone so far as to call the tour delightful, but certainly it was more pleasant than he'd expected. Paru and Vedero were very different from each other, and had never been close, but both of them were practiced in the art of conversation, and both of them were close to Idreän. Hesthet and Csevet had been friends for years, and their interplay of affectionate professionalism was pleasant to be around. And, of course, Maia was there: steady, serene, slyly funny Maia, who had been Idra's confidante through every trial of Idra's life, and who, furthermore, was reasonably well-traveled and therefore a fount of amusing trivialities about many locations along their route.
Vedero told him he ought to write a guidebook, and Maia laughed his rare, shoulder-shaking laugh, and said that no one who was not obligated to would tolerate his storytelling.
And rail was a lovely way to travel, Idra found; he had always liked the ground falling away beneath an airship, but you missed so much that way. Rail was closer, and they stopped at tiny sidings to wave at people and give away armfuls of Imperial souvenirs. Idra kissed a lot of babies and had many photographs taken with the new-style portable cameras by eager mamas, and reflected on the minor scandal his father had caused when he'd had an official photographic portrait made in the last year of his reign. That had only been six years ago, and now Idra would be in hundreds of photographs, taken by hundreds of cameras, in shabby rooms and elegant front halls throughout the Ethuveraz.
Idreän, under Paru's watchful eye, shook hands in the modern fashion with local boys and girls, and blushed prettily when a good-looking farmer's son boosted her onto the back of a gleaming draft gelding for a photograph. Idra caught his wife's eye and saw his own thoughts reflected there: in the next year or so, they would need to start considering a marriage for Idreän. This was the last summer of her girlhood.
They also stopped for a few hours or a day everywhere large enough for an actual train station, and spent time clapping politely at speeches and children's choirs in the smaller towns, and speeches and full opera productions in the cities. In Amalo, they saw a production of Zhelsu at the theater where it had originated a quarter-century ago, directed by the original composer-director, who was privileged to sit between Idra and Maia at dinner and encouraged to talk about himself and his career. Iäna Pel-Thenhior was tall, part-goblin, and perhaps twenty years older than Idra himself, with beautiful golden eyes and an equally beautiful silk brocade suit, and he had been at the forefront of experimental opera for most of his adult life.
As Idra turned to listen to the serving-boy describe the third course, he heard Maia say from Pel-Thenhior's other side, "Iäna, dear one, how is Thara faring? I had hoped to see both of you."
Pel-Thenhior answered, almost too softly for Idra to hear, "His health has taken a turn for the worse, of late -- I am sure he would love to see thee, if thou couldst spare the time?" Maia being "thee'd" by someone outside the family made Idra's stomach sink, a little, but he told himself not to be ridiculous.
"Of course," Maia said. "I shall come by tomorrow."
The next morning, Maia told Idra that he was going to see Othala Celehar, a prelate of Ulis who Maia said was a friend of both himself and Pel-Thenhior, and did Idra wish to come? Idra could not -- he was due to tour the Amal-Athamareise Ashenavo Trincsiva with Prince Orchenis, who, in addition to being the Athamareise prince, was also his brother-in-law. Therefore, Maia took only Csevet with him.
Orchenis had kindly brought his wife Uleviän along on the tour, so that she might have more time with her sister and niece, and Idra let their pleased chatter wash over him like a soothing rain. He was so damned fond of Paru, although he felt stymied, sometimes, as to how to show it. It wasn't as if his own parents had been any sort of model for him to follow. But he saw Orchenis turn to Uleviän, and smile, softening the harsh lines of his face, and Uleviän lit up in response, laying her hand on her husband's arm and looking up at him, and he saw Paru's wistful expression for the briefest of moments. It was enough for him to step close to her, and smile down at her in his turn, and tuck her arm through his when she smiled back.
Moreover, the A3 works, as they were called, were truly fascinating. Airship travel was much faster and smoother than rail, but not so suited to cargo, and far too expensive for most of the populace to access. Still, as the government relied on airships so much, airship construction remained a steady source of employment for much of Amalo. Touring the works was like being inside some vast clockwork device; he was reminded, forcefully, of the cleverly moving set of Zhelsu the night before. All in all, it was one of the most pleasant days of the whole journey, and he and Orchenis and their wives had their photographs taken by the memorial sign for the victims of an airship explosion in the A3 many years ago. The principality had funded research at the University of Amalo after that, and now airships were floated with the much-safer, non-flammable helium, rather than the hydrogen that had been used in the past.
Maia and Csevet returned for the dinner and the ball that night at the Amal'theilean, Orchenis's principal residence and seat of his government. When Idra inquired after Othala Celehar, Maia smiled. "He is not so poorly as I had feared. Mer Pel-Thenhior worries about him, but Celehar is merely unfortunate enough to react to ragweed pollen, and thus is having a miserable few weeks that will pass as soon the infernal things go out of bloom."
Idra frowned, and wondered if Pel-Thenhior had, perhaps, a closer relationship with Othala Celehar than Maia was letting on. He shoved the thought aside, and asked instead, "How closely related is he to Csoru?" His step-grandmother was less than ten years older than he was, and still a social force to be reckoned with; she had been a daughter of the Celehada.
"Second cousins, I think?" Maia said. "Relatively closely; I met Othala Celehar when I was a junior prelate myself, for he lived in Csoru's household for a time. Teru Tethimar was Archprelate even then, if thou remember'st, and thought Celehar and I might make good friends. Indeed, we have been friends ever since." He ate a bite of roast pheasant, then said, "Celehar was lucky enough to attend the very first performance of Zhelsu, at which there was a riot, and one of the actors threw himself off the roof of the opera house. It made Mer Pel-Thenhior the talk of Amalo for a while, I understand. Of course, I only know about it from Celehar's letters."
Idra, who for close friends had only Maia, swallowed a pang of longing at Maia's having an entire additional friend. Their positions, as an Emperor and the son of an Emperor, as sovereign and Archprelate, made friendships few and precious, and did not make for friendships between equals. A man like Othala Celehar, another prelate that Maia had known since they were both young men, would be as close as it was possible to get, and Idra would not begrudge it. It was merely that he wished, sometimes, that he might have one or two other friends, himself.
After Amalo, they began to wind their way back to the Untheileneise Court. Summer was ending and the north part of the Ethuveraz beginning to show fall leaves bright against the blue sky. One morning, near the very end of the tour, Idra saw Csevet touch Maia, the only time of the entire trip that betrayed they were anything other than employer and secretary. Maia was sitting cross-legged in prayerful meditation in the parlor car, as he did every morning and evening, and opened his eyes, unseeing, their usual clear, pale gray struck through with gold and green, fine tremors running through his body. Csevet abandoned his breakfast and knelt before him, watching him closely, and as the colors faded from his eyes, Csevet said something too low for Idra to hear, and gently cradled Maia's face in his hands for the briefest of moments. Idra looked away, fighting a blush at the tenderness of the gesture, and met Hesthet's eyes across the table. Hesthet, too, was blushing, and Idra gave him a wry smile.
"I am back," Maia said, his voice raspy, "thank you, Csevet." A moment later, both men joined the table. Maia looked perfectly well as he sat down next to Idra, and began filling his plate. He looked sidelong at Idra as he dished out eggs, and said, "Not all members of the prelacy have a calling, of course, but I do. I -- speak to Osreian, sometimes, or she speaks to me."
"I knew about thy calling," Idra said, before realizing that of course Maia had said that for Hesthet's benefit. "But I'd never seen--" he gestured at Maia's face "--that before."
"It does not happen often," Maia said, and then, thoughtfully, "and it is usually important when it does." He changed registers to be more formal. "Would you mind very much, Serenity, if we made a pilgrimage at our stop today, rather than following the set agenda?"
"You have our permission," Idra answered, matching formality to formality, and Maia smiled at him.
"Thank you, Serenity."
Csevet cleared his throat delicately, then reached over and added toast and mushrooms to Maia's plate, expressionless, and poured him a cup of tea. Maia rolled his eyes and started to eat.
In the event, the set agenda that day had Idra and Paru touring a ropeworks and then having their photograph taken next to a rope ball with a sign on it proclaiming it Osreth's Largest Rope Ball! while Vedero and Idreän toured a girls' university preparatory school. Idra privately felt that he had gotten the short end of that stick; he had toured at least two ropeworks already this summer.
Maia rejoined them at the evening banquet, a troubled crease between his eyebrows. "There was a mine here," he said, under cover of the meal, "that was not properly closed, and the Orshaneise tell us the crops are dying downstream of it. We can feel the ground hurting, as we get close to it, but it is undermined and not safe to approach." He breathed out, obviously in pain, and Idra gripped his forearm. "We request a Witness, for the land, Serenity, and a Witness for the people affected. And perhaps one for the waterway, as well."
"Of course," Idra said. "Hesthet will see to it on the morrow." The pain in Maia's face eased, just a little, and he relaxed back into their usual informality.
"Perhaps I should institute an Archprelate's tour," he said, "for I feel I would not have uncovered this without accompanying thee, or at least, not so soon. The Orshaneise would have told me eventually, I am sure, but --"
"Best to deal with it early," Idra agreed. "But I should miss thee sorely if thou wert always away."
"I'd send thee photographs from the Ethuveraz's largest frying pan," Maia said, obviously having heard about the rope ball. "The most excessive statue of a cow. The tallest ladder in the marshlands."
"Thou'rt actually the worst," Idra said, affectionately. "Why do I put up with thee?"
"Residual tolerance from childhood, probably," Maia said.
Idra glanced around. Everyone was busy with their food, and not paying the least bit of attention to the Emperor and Archprelate's conversation. "Maia," he said, reaching out and taking Maia's hand, "thou'rt close to me as a brother, and my dearest, most precious friend. Please, do not make a joke of the love I bear thee."
Maia froze, swallowed, and then covered Idra's hand with his own. "Little Idra," he said, his voice cracking, "thou know'st what thou hast meant to me, since I was a brokenhearted boy of eight. I take thy love very seriously indeed."
The mayor of the town stood up to give a speech and welcome a children's theater company to the stage, just then, and Idra went back to his meal, feeling less lonely than usual.
That night, he drew Paru to him, and kissed her. She hummed into his mouth and wound her arms around his neck, and he wondered if she had missed him in her bed. He'd never been quite sure how to ask, despite being married to her for so long that their eldest daughter was a legal adult. "I do not want more children," he said to her, between pressing kisses to her neck. "I do not want to risk you. Canst--it would be a dreadful scandal, if it got out, but wilt thou consider talking to a cleric about a preventative?" His nohecharei could hear him, but of course they would no more gossip than they would leave him in a room by himself.
She tucked herself into his chest, and said, "Yes, of course, but--" and she blushed, suddenly and deeply, "but I have been talking to Aunt Vedero, and she says we might try--well. She says we might try using our mouths? On --" and she shrugged and gave up on words, taking his hand instead and pressing it to her sex, then pressing her hand to his.
Idra blinked. "Twenty years, and neither of us thought of that? And they let us run an empire?" Then he blinked again. "What has Aunt Vedero been doing, that she knows -- no. I don't want to know, actually. I shall continue to pretend she is an entirely virtuous and innocent woman of fifty-five."
Paru laughed, her lovely throaty laugh that he'd only ever heard in the bedroom before, and said, "I am no innocent, and I have learned many new things on this tour, husband. Let this be one of them?"
They returned to Cetho thirteen weeks to the day after they had left it, and rode back to the Untheileneise Court in Idra's favorite carriage, the one with the squashy springs and green velvet upholstery. Maia sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, the two of them bracketed by Idra's nohecharei. Idra leaned just a little bit of weight into Maia's body, pleased to have him close, pleased to be heading home.
"I must thank thee," he said, and Maia turned to him, the clear gray eyes so like Idra's own going from abstracted to attentive in an instant. "For allowing me to take thee from thy duties for so long. For thy friendship. For thy brotherhood."
Maia's face creased into a brilliant smile, and he looped one long arm behind Idra and hugged him into his side. "It has genuinely been my pleasure, little brother," he said, and left his arm there all the way to Court.
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End