Kei's Gift (114 page)

“Not if you do it right. Shush.”

Kei shushed, but he was glad when Arman finished. Having that razor near his lover’s throat made him uneasy. The basin was full of bristly suds and hair, and his cheeks were as smooth as kidskin. Kei touched them in amazement. “You look about fifteen.”

Arman smiled a little as he patted his face dry. “Which was the other reason I grew a beard. It’s hard being a twenty-two-year-old general when your lieutenants are nearly twice your age.”

“You’re so handsome,” Kei said, surprised at the fine features the beard had been covering. “I mean, you were before, but....”

Arman shook his head. “Loke said I looked better without it too. My father...my father says I look like my mother. She was a great beauty apparently, although I don’t remember her clearly. I remember her hands, how soft they were on my face, and her voice. And her eyes. But I don’t remember her face much at all.”

“If you resemble her, then she must have been a beauty indeed.” Kei said, sighing in appreciation, and then remembered they were in a hurry. “You’d better get dressed, and I’d better change, I suppose.”

“Will you be all right? There’ll be Prijian soldiers there, in full uniform too. If this is going to distress you....”

“No, now I’ve been warned, I’ll be fine. I just don’t like being surprised. I’m going to stay by your side the entire time, protocol be damned.” He passed Arman his clothes, and, deciding the braid was too untidy to pass muster, quickly remade it. Then he had to find a tie for his own hair and change. He was just lacing his shirt when Neka asked them where they were.
Coming, give us a few moments.

Arman was sitting on the bunk again, his eyes weary and lost-looking. “A few more hours,” Kei said, stroking his hand down Arman’s cheek. Arman leaned into the touch and looked at him. “And then no more, I insist on it.”

“You can’t insist. If the negotiations continue, they continue.”

“They can find another translator.”

“No, they can’t, not someone they can trust, and no one who understands the Prij the way I do. I just have to finish this. Darshian’s not going to suffer because I’ve made the most appalling mess of my private life.”

Kei sat next to him. "The mess wasn’t of your making, most of it. What can I do to help?”

Arman turned to him, and stared at him. “Just be with me. I need you.”

“Then you have me. Now, try not to put too much weight on that leg—use me as support, and once we’re on deck, you let Jera or Reis do the work.”

Even with the rest and the massage, Arman had trouble and Kei had to really support him on the weak side. Once they got back, Kei swore he’d make Arman do the exercises as they’d planned and keep off the leg otherwise—he’d had entirely too much of the wrong kind of movement in the last two days, and a broken leg took months to be completely strong again. It hadn’t even been two since he’d broken it, and the inactivity had badly weakened the muscles. Once these damn diplomatic manoeuvres were over, he’d insist Arman gave himself the proper time to recover.

~~~~~~~~

There was quite an assembly of people on deck, and the hostage leaders attending the banquet were dressed in the best clothes Kei had arranged to be brought down from Darshek for them. Lords Meki and Peika were in their ceremonial robes, and Colonel Jiv and the captains wore their armour. But everyone was standing at the rail, looking towards the land. “What’s going on?” Kei asked, helping Arman limp over to the others.

Jera pointed. “Meda and the others are putting on a show for the locals.”

Kei looked past the two other Darshianese ships, and now he saw the amazing display close to the shore, with water spouts and balls of bright flame, and small rowing boats moved along on waves that danced in the air, illuminated by Neris’ fires as the sunlight deserted the scene. “Why?”

“So we have an audience when we head to the palace, that’s why,” Lord Peika said. “Right, everyone.” He clapped his hands. “We’re going to go right up this Avenue of the Gods, and we’re going to be as obvious as we can about it, so that means Jera and Neris will be really showing off.” The two Gifted men smiled. “Everyone, remember you represent Darshian, and don’t rise to any provocation—however, don’t let insult pass either. Either I or Lord Meki want to know—we’re not going to let the Prij use us as their playthings any more.”

He turned to Arman. “Are you fit?”

“Fit enough.”

“Then let’s go. Neris? Jera?”

Gonji moved closer to Kei. “You done this before?” he asked out the side of his mouth.

“No. But I understand there’s nothing to it. Just hold your head high and let’s show these bastards who’s really in control here.”

Arman looked at Kei then, and grimaced. “Let me speak to Lord Meki, Kei.” He tugged his arm free from Kei’s and limped heavily over to the Ruler so he could speak to him in privacy.

“What’s wrong with the golden general?” Gonji asked.

“Don’t call him that,” Kei said irritably. “He’s had rather a lot of bad news in the last day or so, and he’s worried about this all going well. You don’t realise how hard he’s worked, or what he’s giving up. Whatever you think you sacrificed to be a hostage, he’s lost and more to get you all home again.”

“Settle down, we do appreciate it. It’s just rather strange to have a Prijian general walking around as one of us—gods, you’ve even got him wearing a braid.” Gonji chuckled. “He surely doesn’t mean to grow that mass out, does he?”

“So he says. It’ll weigh as much as he does, if it gets as long as mine. Please don’t tease him. He’s really suffering.”

“Yes, I can see,” Gonji said kindly. “We won’t hurt him. The people from Ai-Vinri are a bit wary of him, but I don’t think anyone else is.”

“Good. Heads up, here we go.”

Lord Peika made everyone stand in a tidy group and then Neris waved his hand. At once, the darkening sky was lit by a long row of dazzlingly bright balls of light. From across the water, faint cries of astonishment drifted across to the ships. “Our path is lit, and we have everyone’s attention, so we should go,” Lord Peika said. “Arman? Lord Meki? If you don’t mind.”

Arman came back to Kei’s side and Lord Meki stood next to his fellow ruler. “Jera, if you please? Reis, Meda, Kira, the ships are now entirely under your protection.”

“We’ve got everything under control, Peika. Run along and have fun,” Reis said, giving Kei a little wave.
Is Arman all right? He looks so sad.

He is sad, thank you for the concern. Once this is all over, he’ll feel better.

Tell him we’re all behind him.

I will,
Kei said, smiling at Reis.
He tells me you and the others aren’t missing anything, but I’ll try and bring you back some sweet cakes.

Prijian food? No thanks.
Reis pulled a comically disgusted face.

Arman looked at Kei curiously. “Tell you later,” Kei murmured.

Lord Peika gave a signal, and then they all rose in the air. Kei had had a little experience of this, but had never been taken this high before—he squeezed Arman’s hand and hoped he wouldn’t puke in fright.

Behind them, the massed soldiers were also being lifted. Neris’s bright trail of lights made it almost bright as noon—to the watching crowds, it must have been like their gods coming to earth. Meda hadn’t been able to resist a final flourish—their path was picked out on the water by a series of pretty fountains which caught the light from the fire balls, as if the Darshianese were flying along a road of glittering gems.

Arman’s hand was cold around Kei’s, but his lover wasn’t afraid. “It’s beautiful,” he said, putting his arm around Arman’s waist.

“Yes, it is. Probably a waste of effort, but it’ll give people something to chatter about.”

He sounded so bitter and sad. Kei hugged him and tried to let Arman feel his love through his touch.

They were landed at the docks, and met by a large number of Prijian soldiers, including those wearing red plumes who, Arman had told Kei, were the elite palace guard. “Sei general,” one of the officers said, coming up and saluting. “We have carriages for the guests.”

“They’re not needed, captain. Have your men fall in behind our party, behind the Darshianese troops.”

“But, Sei general—”

“Do as you’re told, damn it,” Arman snapped. Kei looked at him in surprise—it was unlike Arman to lose his temper dealing with minions.

“Yes, Sei,” the man said, shouting orders and marshalling the Prijian soldiers behind them.

Arman motioned to the Rulers. “This way, my lords.”

Once again, Neris threw a trail of lights above them, making the street shockingly bright. There were dozens of people watching, just here at the docks and as Jera lifted up all the Darshianese—all seven hundred or so people—a foot above the ground to float down the street along which Kei have been force-marched months before, gasps and cries filled the air. The Rulers ignored it, looking somewhat bored as if this was their normal way of moving about, while Neris played a little, sending balls of flame to dance ahead of them, and over the crowds which grew in number and more awestruck as they went along.

There was a little angry shouting, and several times, people threw missiles, harmlessly deflected by Jera—the Prijian guard rushed to deal with the assailants, but the Darshianese affected disdain. Mostly people seemed amazed, though the children thought the fireballs were pretty. Arman’s face remained completely blank as he stared straight ahead of him, but Kei sensed his emotions were nowhere near as calm as he tried to appear. He felt the anxiety and curiosity of the other former hostages, but everyone was taking it all in their stride rather well. He himself couldn’t help feeling a little grim satisfaction at being able to return with the upper hand so decisively theirs, when he and his fellows had previously been dragged along in bonds for the entertainment of these same assembled masses. He doubted people would be saying how primitive and unimportant the Darshianese were after this evening.

They took their time, floating gracefully up the long street, letting the onlookers get a good eyeful of the power of the Darshianese. By the time they arrived in the large square where Kei had first encountered the Prijian sovereign, there were thousands of people, and Prijian soldiers everywhere trying to control them. At the gates of the palace, a flustered-looking senator met them. “Arman, what in hells do you think you’re doing, bringing all these soldiers here, and in this manner?”

“You have a problem with the correct ceremonial protocol for Darshianese Rulers attending official functions in foreign countries, Senator Vilkus?” Arman drawled. “You didn’t perhaps expect them to be tied up and dragged along like criminals, did you? Not again. I don’t think the Darshianese would consent to be treated that way twice.”

The man quailed a little as Neris chose that moment to put an especially bright ball of flame over their heads. “Come with me. But the soldiers stay outside.”

“No, they come into the palace grounds, Vilkus. The Rulers require a proper escort and retinue as much as Her Serenity does. You wouldn’t want to cause any offence, would you?”

The man scowled, but then signalled for the Darshianese caravan to come inside the palace grounds. After all, he could hardly have stopped people who could float over the gates as easily as dried leaves. “You’re enjoying this,” Kei muttered to his lover.

“Maybe a little,” Arman said, a slight smile on his lips.

The Darshianese soldiers were taken to a courtyard where, Arman was assured, they would receive a good supper. “You trust the Prij not to poison them?” Lord Meki asked quietly as they were escorted through the palace.

“No. But I trust Jiv and Tiko to ask the food to be tasted before they touch it. I’ve warned them. I warn you too—Jera, that’s especially in your case. You’ll be a main target.”

“Got it,” the mind-mover said. “Permission to dump poisoned food on people’s heads, Meki?”

Lord Meki seemed rather amused at the idea. “With pleasure.” Now Kei hoped something would be found, which was very wrong of him. He didn’t realise he had this capacity for vindictiveness. He hoped he grew out of it, or that it only applied to the Prij.

But he still wanted to see Senator Mekus wearing a bowl of soup.

They were led to a large room, and for a moment, Kei had a sudden painful memory of that day when they had all been rounded up. Arman squeezed his hand. “It’s not that room,” he said quietly. “They don’t use that for banquets.”

Kei gulped down the sudden nausea, grateful for Arman’s words. Footmen came to meet them, and to escort them to their seats, the Rulers near where the sovereign would sit and the other Darshianese down a long table near there. All of them but Arman.

“What’s going on?” Kei asked as footmen tried to usher him to a chair. “Why haven’t you got a seat?”

“Ah. It seems as translator, I’m a servant, and servants may not sit in front of Her Serenity at a meal.”

“What?” But a blare of horns and a beaten drum interrupted Kei’s outrage, and then the sovereign and her senators swept into the room. Everyone bowed, the Darshianese a beat behind, as the woman took her seat. Arman went to take up position behind Lord Meki. Kei looked at him. “You need to sit,” he hissed.