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When Beshelar first came back to himself, it was to a feverish confusion of images and sensations: smoldering pain in his side and chest, smeared darkness around him, his Emperor's face a smudge of deeper darkness in the surrounding shadows. He was saying something that Beshelar couldn't parse, in a strained, heavily controlled voice that Beshelar now knew to mean fear.
His Serenity's fear in his presence meant a gross dereliction of duty; being prone while it occurred was an even worse one. Beshelar stirred, trying to rise on his elbows, and immediately collapsed back, the dull fire of pain flaring into intolerable agony.
"Beshelar, stay still!" his Serenity exclaimed, and Beshelar toppled back into the darkness with the unpleasant knowledge of being the source of his Emperor's distress, helpless to stop it.
The next time he woke, it was to a colder and better clarity. He stayed with his eyes closed, trying not to alter his breathing and to gather his wits in peace.
He could remember where they were supposed to be. Namely, on the inspection of the construction of the bridge over Istandaärtha, something that, to the best of Beshelar's understanding, was both needed and subtly conceived and arranged by Mer Aisava as a gift and relief for Serenity in his unending labors. They'd been camping on the western side of the ridge for several days, "camping" being a somewhat misleading word to describe the profusion of ornate and luxurious tents housing the great quantity of staff required for the emperor's presence. His Serenity spent most of his time with Mer Halezh, Merrem Halezho, and other members of the Clockwork Guild - as well as the engineers and overseers of laborers. Evenmuch as Beshelar found it to be unseemly--sometimes with the laborers themselves. Scrambling among the dust and bustle of the construction, the emperor had looked, Beshelar had had to admit, much happier than he'd been in Alcethmeret, although it would perhaps not have been obvious to an outsider.
Beshelar tried to search closer to the current moment - inspections, a dinner hosted for the Clockwork Guild members overseeing the bridge and a handful of local nobility, a morning ride and - an image of Cala falling backwards in a bright spray of blood shocked him into bolting upright, and doubling over in agony.
Somebody's hesitant, gentle hands were on him, holding him steady. "Beshelar," the emperor said, "we beg of you, you must hold still."
Beshelar's ears flattened against his skull at being begged by his emperor; he subsided, riding the wave of pain with his teeth gritted. His eyes gradually adjusted to the light, and to his Serenity's troubled face, catching the ugly bruise darkening his cheekbone. Rage washed through him again - the same helpless, inappropriate rage he had felt against the worthless worm Setheris when the extent of his sins was revealed. "Who dared!" he began.
Edrehasivar flicked an ear in disdain. "It doesn't matter. You must conserve your strength. Those people either have no maza to heal you or refuse us their help, but at least they've provided bandages..."
His voice broke on the word "maza", and Beshelar ruthlessly cut down his own grief. His and Cala’s job was, in the end, to die, and Cala surely had known it. It was up to Beshelar now to ensure he had not done so in vain.
"Serenity," he said in acknowledgement. "Who are those people? Where are we?"
"Lie back, please," Edrehasivar said, and patiently refused to shift until Beshelar laid back on the heap of straw that made his bedding. "They've been hiding their faces behind scarves, but are being very insistent that we halt the construction of the Wisdom Bridge, I think it's somebody tied to the eastern nobility. Or directly to the silk trade. Or both."
Beshelar stared at him. "They would dare to kidnap the emperor to present demands?"
"It seems," Edrehasivar said, dryly, "to be a fashionable pastime of our reign."
The urge to apologize must have shown in Beshelar's face despite his best efforts.
"Beshelar," his Serenity said, intently. "The fault was not yours then, nor is it now - neither is it Cala's... Neither was it Cala's. If anything, the fault is ours for desiring the inspection and making it such a burden on our household. We should have contented ourselves with reports, but we merely wished... Our empress’ absence is a blessing."
"Serenity, no one could blame you."
"Would that it were so," Edrehasivar said. "No matter. We are not sure of where we are, or how they have managed to carry out our kidnapping so efficiently, or get past the camp guards. They have not been overly cruel so far..."
Beshelar couldn't stop himself from staring at the offensive splotch of bruising against Edrehasivar's dark skin again, and the emperor made a dismissive gesture. "That was during our capture, and likely unintended. We were... distraught. But there has been a certain amount of courtesy since. Bedding, bandages and some water have been provided, and they have treated your wounds, at least, at our behest."
Meaning, Beshelar grimly translated to himself, that his emperor had spent whatever cachet of influence he had with their kidnappers on Beshelar's well-being, and not his own. Edrehasivar was sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, his robes in disarray still splattered with Cala's - with somebody's blood. Edrehasivar had made no mention of food, and so it was likely that for however long Beshelar had been unconscious and useless, his Serenity had had to do without; Beshelar had no doubt that whatever water had been provided had been spent on him as well.
The urge to - not berate, never that, but somehow convey the enormity of the wrongness was rising in him. This was not how it should have been; the emperor’s benevolence should have not been extended to Beshelar so carelessly. But he felt too weak and wounded to argue that clearly, and had no desire to upset his Serenity more by trying to talk and running out of breath.
And besides, had he not agreed to that benevolence, on the steps of Untheileneise’meire? He remembered with sudden clarity now a conversation he had had with Cala after the emperor had offered them his unconventional friendship. Beshelar was still trying to accustom himself to the enormity and weirdness of the gift so freely offered - and Cala had said, "Wasn't it so mercifully cruel of his Serenity to offer absolution for our misdeeds without demanding reparations first? We might need to offer penances to Csaivo just to soothe our conscience."
"We were not wrong to follow the Adremaza's instructions," Beshelar had said, without much conviction. "We weren't disloyal to his Serenity in that."
"No," Cala had answered, meditatively, and as ever blissfully uncaring of any blasphemy he might commit. "But when we’ve told the emperor that we could not be his friends, were we not disloyal in abandoning a bereaved boy to the darkness, no matter how right and proper it was?" -- and Beshelar had not known how to answer.
The door opened, startling him into high alert. Edrehasivar shifted by his side, straightening his shoulders, seamlessly flowing from Emperor-in-private to Emperor-in-public, his face composed and dryly benevolent. There was never a space for him to be not an Emperor, not anymore, but there was a difference, a difference Beshelar had learned to know and value.
It had a certain effect on two elves, an old man and his younger companion, who entered their cell. Their faces were covered by masks - which bode well for his Serenity's chances of survival, thank goddesses - but their ears gave away their agitation.
Beshelar tried to test the limits of his body as subtly as he could. They would not likely expect him to be able to move; if he could get one good lunge in, and convince Edrehasivar to run, perhaps...
The pain in his middle told him unambiguously that movement was out of the question; and a moment later two masked guards entered the cell and took positions at either side of the door, putting his intentions to rest.
"Serenity," the older man said, stiffly. Beshelar tried to decide whether he could recognize his voice from the throng of local nobility invited to the dinner in the emperor's camp, and failed. "Have you considered our offer?"
Edrehasivar turned his hands palms up. "We were not aware there was an offer to consider. So far you have only made demands."
"So have you," the younger man said with disdain, glancing at Beshelar. His companion tapped his elbow in warning. "It pains us, of course," he said, "to offer your Serenity such meager hospitality, and we deeply regret certain - unpleasantnesses. But surely you can see our arguments as well?"
The honeyed condescension in his voice made Beshelar's blood boil. If only there were one guard!..
"Surely it's understandable that your Serenity, having been thrust into court so young and so - impressionable - were taken in by the unscrupulous. The bridge was undoubtedly a fascinating fancy, but the wreckage it would make of the economy - of course the Clockwork Guild made sure to put silk over your eyes..."
Edrehasivar, whom Beshelar had watched learning to rule the Corazhas in less than a year, and who had once faced kidnapping and the prospect of certain death in nothing but his nightshirt, and had come out of it still the emperor, raised an ironic eyebrow.
"Be that as it may," he said, mildly, sweeping the old man's argument away with a short flick of his hand, "you seem to be under the mistaken impression that we can give orders to our government from wherever we're enjoying your kind hospitality."
Beshelar saw, in fascination, the tips of the younger man's ears blush, and wondered if the kidnapping had exactly been planned. This didn't console him much; unplanned meant stupid, and stupid meant dangerous. He could still recall the smell of Tethimar's burning flesh in his nostrils.
"We would," the man said, "of course be honored to return your Serenity to the Alcethmeret as soon as possible, as soon as we can be sure of your agreement. Of course we have no reason to doubt the imperial word."
"And if we do not give it?"
Beshelar gritted his teeth. Imperial honor or not, if there was ever a time to lie!
"We would not want," the old man said, "to be driven to do something we all would dearly regret."
Edrehasivar's face was serene, impassive. "Regicide, you mean? We assure you that we and our heir are of complete accord regarding the Wisdom Bridge - and in the wake of our disappearance you would not find him an easy target."
The old man's mouth thinned in annoyance. "An admirable faith, your Serenity. But before it comes to that, perhaps we could offer some - other incentives."
He nodded at his companion, and stepped back. The younger man smiled in a way that made Beshelar's teeth ache, and stepped towards Beshelar, flanked by one of the silent guards.
"Emperor or not, the entire country knows of thy unnatural affinity for thy nonecharei," he said, making Beshelar see red. "Thou'st proven it, hast thou not?"
Edrehasivar shot to his feet, but the guard seized him without effort, pinning his elbows together behind his back. Beshelar struggled upwards, injuries be damned, but he was too slow - too cursedly weak - already out of breath - and the man pushed him back and shrugged his arms off without any effort.
"No," Edrehasivar said, with urgency that damned him.
"If thou wilt not listen to reason, perhaps thou wilt want to spare thy dog," the cursed elf said, and dug his free hand deeply into the bandages around Beshelar's side.
To his shame, Beshelar couldn't even tell if he screamed; his vision whited out alongside with his wits, the world breaking into meaningless, swirling patterns. He came to with blood on his lips and tongue, and somebody's mocking laughter, and a voice saying - Edrehasivar again, quiet and forceful, and underneath terrified, and Beshelar knew all shades of his terror - "...stop this immediately, stop..."
He couldn't get his breath back enough to speak.
"Good Mer Beshelar would, of course, have to enjoy our hospitality for some time longer," the old man was saying, and Beshelar loathed the sound of his voice as he had never loathed anything else in his entire life. "The quality of this hospitality would be entirely up to your Serenity's wisdom."
Beshelar blinked the tears from his eyes and made a supernatural effort to focus on his Emperor's face. He knew Edrehasivar's gentle heart; had been offered it, earnestly and truly, and accepted it, accepted with Cala, poor dead Cala. To be now turned into the instrument of corruption for that heart, to be the yoke that Edrehasivar would never refuse, was obscene.
It felt as if all of them were frozen, suspended in the moment. Through the thin film of tears he saw Serenity struggle free from the guard's hold, fold gracelessly to his knees by Beshelar's side - such a small violation of everything, compared to what was to come.
Edrehasivar was crying.
"Deret," he said, and the sound of his own name shocked Beshelar worse than his tormentor's cruel fingers. "Wouldst thou forgive me?"
It took Beshelar a heartbeat to understand - to believe - the gift his Serenity was giving to him. The following heartbeat was drowned out by the sound of an explosive maz, and then the door to their cell splintered into pieces.
Imperial guards poured into the room, and next to Captain Orthema and, improbably, Csethiro Zhasan with her sword in hand, there was - there was Cala, shabby and enraged and still smoking with the remains of his maz, unquestionably alive. In the incomprehensible relief of it all, the world tipped over and slipped from Beshelar's fingers.
He allowed it freely, knowing that he was neither betrayed nor an instrument of betrayal, and could - for just a moment - rest in peace.
It deeply and unfairly annoyed Beshelar that Cala was already mostly recovered and out and about while Beshelar had to take the longer road to recovery.
Not that Beshelar wasn't grateful that one of the imperial runner boys had stumbled into Cala soon after the kidnapping, alerting the entire camp, summoning the mazei with their healing and saving Cala's life. But his own temporary infirmity meant that he was under the strictest possible orders not to overexert - coming from the emperor himself - and one of Orthema's men, somebody Beshelar didn't even know, was filling in for him.
Edrehasivar had point blank refused to return to the Alcethmeret and cut their inspection short. Beshelar gathered, from the gossip flying around the camp, that Orthema had offered the emperor his revethvoran over the shame of failing to protect him so badly, and was so insistent that it goaded Edrehasivar at snapping at him. Right now a fly could not get through the camp without being in the sights of at least three tense and jumpy guards. But the message the emperor was sending was clear: no matter the threats to his reign and his person, the Wisdom Bridge would become reality.
Frankly, Beshelar concurred. He would've enjoyed the rare and pleasant feeling of being, for once, in full accord with his liege - except that Edrehasivar was avoiding him.
Beshelar had missed most of their rescue, in the grip of unconsciousness, and had come to when they were back at the camp, under the ministrations of court medics. Cala bad been with him, reassuring and apologetic for having not been with them in captivity, a claim so ridiculous it made Beshelar sputter.
Edrehasivar had come in once, and inquired about his welfare in such a horribly stilted, polite way that Beshelar felt embarrassed himself, the contrast between his Serenity’s forced words and Kiru and Telimezh's naked happiness at Beshelar’s well-being painfully marked.
Beshelar was still woozy from healing, easily out of breath, and so while he fought his tongue, heavy at the best of times, to find the right words, his Serenity stammered goodwill wishes and--for lack of a better word--fled.
Since then there had been nothing but days of slow and frustrating healing, with Cala's company and well-meant efforts quite insufficient to distract Beshelar from his uneasy thoughts. He itched to do something, to free himself from this unfamiliar and unpleasant state of pointless fretting.
The fifth day of Beshelar's unofficial exile got interrupted in the most unexpected of ways: the empress sweeping unannounced into Beshelar's tent, startling him.
The empress flicked her hand, dismissing her attendants to the entrance of the tent, where they pretended not to listen with what he could see was practiced ease.
The empress waited out his clumsy scramble to get up from his sickbed and bow with a patience that hadn't been in her before her wedding, then took a seat by his side.
"Lieutenant Beshelar," she said, pitching her voice to carry, "we have been amiss not to thank you for taking such good care of our husband while you were captured."
The praise ran so laughably afoul of his thoughts that Beshelar choked on his first, instinctive denial at the very last moment, and his "We thank you, Csethiro Zhasan" came out stilted and gruff.
She smiled at him nevertheless, a quick, conspiratorial grin that discomfited him, since they'd never been on any terms more intimate than those of an empress and her husband's loyal nonecharis. He knew her relatively well by now, as a witness to her and his Serenity's awkward courtship and a considerably smoother marriage, but that was not a basis for this - incursion.
The empress spared him further uncertainty. She leaned toward him, her voice now low enough to be unheard by any passer-by, and said, "We were hoping you could help us, Lieutenant. You see, our husband is deeply unhappy, and it pains us to see him so."
Beshelar swallowed and heard the dry click of his throat. "We are very sorry to be the cause of his Serenity's unhappiness, Csethiro Zhasan."
"Nice and to the point, are you not, Lieutenant? We've always admired that about you. Could you tell us why exactly you think you are causing the malaise?"
"We," Beshelar said, and then stopped, unsure if his Serenity had shared with his wife the details of their capture. "That is, his Serenity..."
She slashed her palm sideways, as if sweeping his concerns away. "We've been told by our husband what happened, Lieutenant. You do not need to be coy for the sake of his privacy, although we appreciate it. But you must know that there are facts and there are interpretations, and we would like to hear your version of the events as well."
Her voice took on a commanding quality, something the Captain of the Imperial Guard himself would find no fault with, and Beshelar fought a ridiculous instinct to snap a salute. In a way there was a relief in not trying to demur.
"We're afraid," he said, "that we have put both ourselves and his Serenity into an untenable situation. For he would not dismiss us no matter his feelings - if there were a way to pardon Dazhis he would have it! - and we could not ask to be dismissed, for he would refuse us, for our sake. And so we have been - "
"But what exactly would you be dismissed for?"
Beshelar's wounded side ached, more a memory of pain than something occurring to his physical body. "We thought," he said, his voice down to an almost whisper that had nothing to do with safety from eavesdroppers. "We were - happy that his Serenity trusted us enough to choose to do what was right, to refuse to give in to that scum on our behalf. It was right and just. But ever since - it hurt him, to do that, we knew that even then, and now it is obvious it hurts him to see us."
It felt hideously improper, to talk about this to Csethiro Zhasan. But he could not stop himself.
"We would have gladly died for him. We would still gladly die for him. But to wound him with our presence, daily?.. His Serenity offered us, his first nonecharei, his affection, and it was a honor, and it was a relief to accept it, but..."
"Ah," Csethiro Zhasan said, no longer smiling, but rather studying Beshelar thoughtfully, her head cocked to the side. "One moment, please."
She called her attendant to herself and whispered something in the woman's ear; the lady-in-waiting nodded and scurried out of the tent.
"We would not presume to speak for our husband about this, of course," the empress said, turning back to Beshelar. "But despite the difference in our purpose, our positions are not quite so different, are they, dear Lieutenant? There might be situations that will require us to be put aside for the sake of the Empire, just like our husband's late mother had been. Do you think he would not do that?"
"We do not know," Beshelar said, quietly.
"Well," Csethiro Zhasan said, "we know, we think, and know that it would grieve our husband horribly, and yet for the sake of peace and stability, for all the people under his hand, he would do it. Does it mean that we should not find comfort and joy in each other's company now? Should we not love each other now, so this possible separation would not hurt us later? Would it hurt us less, were we unloved?"
"We do not know," Beshelar said again, feeling like he's just missed a hard hit to the head in the practice ring. "We cannot say..."
"We understand," the empress said. "But having unfairly alarmed you with that comparison, we would just want to tell you that perhaps you could consider trusting our husband more? For sometimes it is hard for him to trust himself, and he has to rely on those of us who are close to him."
There was a commotion outside of the tent, the rustle of clothes and jingling of jewelry, military-sounding snaps and thuds. Beshelar had straightened, alarmed, just in time to face his Serenity rushing into the tent, trailed by faintly smiling Cala and by Beshelar's temporary replacement.
"Csethiro," his Serenity said, sounding out of breath, "did something - "
"We just thought you were overdue an important conversation, now that Lieutenant Beshelar is going to be back to active duty soon."
Csethiro Zhasan rose to her feet and unhurriedly walked out of the tent, leaning down to kiss her husband on the cheek and whisper something into his ear, too low for Beshelar to hear.
Cala and the temporary nonecharei, whose name Beshelar refused to remember with a pettiness that disgusted him in himself, took positions at the entrance to the tent abandoned by the empress' ladies-in-waiting, and politely averted their eyes. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone with his Serenity, and Beshelar still did not know what to say, not even with the empress' words still ringing in his ears.
He could salute, at least, and so he did. And Edrehasivar, who had always been, from the very first moment, so much more valiant than Beshelar kept expecting him to be, perhaps much more valiant than Beshelar himself, crossed the ground between them and took the seat abandoned by the empress.
He squeezed his hands together, a sign of uncertainty and worry he had all but grown out of, and the sight of it made Beshelar want to fold in penance.
"Serenity," he managed to say, and ran out of words.
"Beshelar," Edrehasivar said. "We've been - remiss. We should've talked to you earlier. To tell you how much we are..."
The word "sorry" hovered between them, a heartbeat from being voiced, and the injustice of it finally cut something in Beshelar viciously free.
"Serenity," he hissed, "don't you dare to apologize to me."
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cala and the other nonecharei stare at him, identically round-eyed, their polite pretense of non-existence abandoned. But the horror he should have felt at his own imprompiety was not present, swept away by the hot wave of rage.
He focused on his Emperor's face. "You've given us such a gift," he said, feeling the rage and terror and aching helplessness of the last days pour through him, unstoppable, "you've trusted us, you've done what was right and just, and now you would take it away? By what - "
" - right," his Serenity finished, quietly, and the rage died as suddenly in Beshelar as it had appeared. His palms were clammy with sweat; he had to fight his body's instinct to prostrate himself and beg for forgiveness, because it would do nothing, it would -
"Deret," Edrehasivar said, quieter, and Beshelar flinched as if struck. "I named thou my friend, and I would have watched thou die, and I knew thou wouldst not - wouldst not even blame me."
He dropped his gaze; he was staring at his hands now, no longer wrung together but laying open and helpless in his lap. Even his back was slumped, a weirdly personal, un-Imperial posture Beshelar hadn't seen him affect for a very long time.
This was a gift too, Beshelar realized, suddenly. A gift he could accept or reject, once again, this time by himself, without following in Cala's knowing footsteps.
He reached out and touched his Serenity’s cold hands, hands that always looked like the weight of the imperial rings exhausted them.
"Serenity," he said, and hoped that the tone of his voice carried the name he could never use, not even now. "If thou hast named me a friend, wouldst thou trust me to decide what it means to me?"
Edrehasivar raised his eyes to him, slow and as if compelled. Beshelar's eyes searched for the bruise that wasn't shadowing his Serenity’s high cheekbone anymore of their own accord.
"I was glad," Beshelar said, and willed his friend to believe him. "I never doubted thou hast made thy choice as a friend, and I was honored. Wouldst thou take it from me now?"
"No," Edrehasivar said.
"Wouldst thou make this choice again, Serenity?"
"Yes," Edrehasivar said, the word low, torn from him, desperate.
Beshelar smiled at him, and felt something dangerously like happiness unfurl itself in his chest.
"Then I'm content," he said, and bowed over his Emperor's - his friend's - hands.
"We cannot wait to return to your service, Serenity," he said, straightening; over the emperor's head Cala was beaming at him, and the replacement fellow was studying the opposite wall with deep, heartfelt concentration.
Edrehasivar's face was losing its miserable rigidity degree by degree; his posture changed from its slump not into his imperial, controlled stance, but into a looser and happier alertness. He smiled back at Beshelar, and rose to his feet.
"We await your return eagerly as well, Beshelar."
He left, this time with all the dignity befitting an emperor and no unseemly haste, and Beshelar, left in his wake, was content.