Chapter Text
In four and a half years, many things had changed for Jesper Fahey. He no longer lived in the Barrel, though he still lived in Ketterdam, and he was no longer a university dropout, but approaching completion of his degree. His body had taken pity and finally allowed him to grow a beard, though he was clean-shaven for now. It was more the knowledge that he could, if he wanted, have a beard. He kept his hair long, in Zemeni-style braids.
As he strode past two members of the stadwatch, he nodded in greeting and the men nodded back, familiar. He did not pause his stride. That was one thing that hadn't changed: as ever, Jesper was running late. He hurried up the stairs to the second story.
Jesper still dressed Barrel-bright, though. He had lost his jacket somewhere—in the pub? By the time the cold pierced his shirt, he had been too far along to turn back, already behind schedule—but his wine-red shirt and plaid trousers set off his paisley brocade waistcoat delightfully. A man could be a responsible university student and maintain his style!
Even as he heard voices spilling out from the theater where the Merchant Council held meetings, Jesper continued to lament the loss of his jacket. It wasn't a particularly nice jacket, but it was a particularly chilly corridor.
Sodding Kerch, he thought.
Six years of living in Ketterdam might have made him as familiar with the city as any nativeborn Kerch, but he would still curse their tight-fistedness on the heating budget. It was a government building, for the Saints' sake!
Jesper opened the door and slipped onto the balcony. Other observers crowded in; though he tried to edge closer, he knew he wouldn't be getting a prime spot. Instead, he craned his neck to get a view. At least the acoustics were good. The moment he opened the door, a crisp voice had washed over him, pitched to reach the rafters. He knew for a fact that voice was pitched to reach the rafters. He had been present for the elocution lessons.
"…that this proposal diverts badly needed funds away from the city, away from Ketterdam's hardworking denizens, on a project we do not need!"
"Do not need?" repeated another member of the Council. Jesper recognized the voice—Hiram Schenck. Voice like a frog, with a face to match. Schenck was true Kerch. All that had value had value in coin.
"Podge," Jesper muttered.
A second Councilman added, "Kerch needs its defenses. Kerch needs its safety. Or we may as well call ourself Shu Han!"
Boreg's logic sounded good, at least enough to earn murmurs of disapproval from the gallery. They did not wish to be called Shu Han. Well, neither did Jesper. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes from dreams about the kherguud. It didn't matter how many reasonable intellectual arguments he heard; Jesper did not hate the Shu, but their Fabrikator-modified soldiers left him with a deep fear of them.
"We have the Council of Tides," replied Wylan.
"Clever thing."
"Shh!" whispered someone beside Jesper.
Jesper didn't care. Wylan was clever, and just as Jesper needed reminders from time to time that he was safe, Wylan needed reminders that he was smart. Some wounds took a long time to fade. The Council of Tides and Merchant Council had their own power struggles, but those were carefully concealed from the public.
When he first saw Wylan, Jesper thought of him as a lost prince. He still saw Wylan that way, in his more romantic moments, simply no longer lost—found, cleaned up, made a man but never made a king. And today, Saints, his prince was shining.
"We have a more than formidable arsenal! What do we show the Zemeni and the Southern States if we insist our trade routes need more protection? They are our allies! What do we show the people of this city if we bankrupt their children's schools to pay for weapons to sit and wait for a war that may never come? Kerch must learn its lessons from Ravka, see how that country suffered from its wars and learn not to court our own."
"And if the Fjerdans should recover well enough to enter the fray?" asked Naten Boreg.
Fjerda was a changing country, but its strong military tradition prevailed. Had he not been over the figures again and again to prepare Wylan for this, Jesper might have felt the fear of that statement. He knew Wylan was frustrated down there. He must want to throw out the arguments he used with Jesper when they were alone: Kerch had a strong enough military now, they were strong at sea, Schenck's arguments had more to do with his mines than his fears! Jesper simply saw it as a sound approach. When you have Kerch's sole ruthenium mine, naturally, you argue that Kerch needs ruthenium. Needs weapons. Made sense. But his sweet, optimistic revolutionary continued to believe people ought to think of the greater good.
"We trust our allies in Ravka—"
"After what they did just a few years ago?" Schenck cut in. Jesper nodded to himself. He didn't like Schenck, so he had been particularly amused when the man thought he had pulled one over on the king of Ravka and brought home false submersible plans.
"Even so," Wylan insisted.
"The Ravkans have no love of the Fjerdans, either," offered Karl Dryden. "If Fjerda builds up its weapons again, Ravka is at the greatest risk."
"Our junior members seem to forget that the duty of this Council is to protect Kerch," sniped Boreg.
Jesper smiled. "Idiot," he muttered happily, earning himself another shush.
"My esteemed colleague," Wylan said, addressing Boreg with those silly, adorable merch manners, "the schools you would take these funds away from for one more submersible, they have already shown to benefit the children of Ketterdam. Fewer children are dying and more are finding their way into apprenticeships with even a year or two of education. Do we want to protect against an attack we might not face instead of continuing to fight dangers we do? Dangers like malnutrition and disease? These programs do protect Kerch, because what is Kerch—"
"If not her people!"
The line had put Wylan's name in the paper a few years ago. Years on, they still weren't tired of it. They broke the protocol of silence to shout it at him. With him.
Wylan had timed his speech perfectly. The bells announced three-quarter chime. The Merchant Council would be getting restless, would want to get home to their warm parlors and suppers.
Jellen Radmakker banged his gavel and called a vote.
Jesper already knew how Wylan would vote, and Dryden would follow as he often did. Dryden was not an impressive man in his own right, so he followed after Wylan—not openly, he was clever enough to deviate some and not look like a follower, but only on the smaller votes. When Wylan was this worked up, Dryden would follow. Similarly, Schenck and Boreg would oppose. Hoede would probably follow Wylan's side, Smit the opposing. Hoede, Dryden, and Wylan had come into their positions at close to the same time, but only Wylan, the youngest by far, had anything to bring besides more of the same. Hoede and Dryden tended to follow him more often than not.
When it came to the final vote, there were six for the military expansion and five against, with Van Aakster abstaining. Jesper still felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, barely down from the kick it got when Van Aakster abstained. Abstained! Wild card!
A man could have as much fun at a political debate as he could at the card table if he looked for it.
The final vote cast was Radmakker's, and it drew an uncertain reaction from the crowd.
"Draw," announced Radmakker, "the Council will reconvene for an emergency session to resolve the matter at seven bells and half chime tomorrow. So ordered."
He banged his gavel, and with that, the meeting was adjourned.
"What was that?" someone in the gallery muttered.
"Waste of time," replied another.
"A damn show," complained a third.
Jesper let the crowd carry him along, listening as the discussion continued. Overall the people seemed malcontent with the outcome. He was inclined to agree. All the build-up to a cliffhanger? He was ready to be elated! He was ready to be furious! He was not ready to be postponed for a day. The Council would be especially fussed at the loss of a holiday. Sacred is Ghezen, but the winter holiday was apparently even more sacred than commerce.
On the first floor, Jesper fell back and let the crowds thin before starting against the tide.
He wasn't actually allowed in the Council chamber. No one was but the Councilmen, despite the stadwatch posted by the door recognizing Jesper. He didn't bother arguing. A few of the Councilmen passed, greeting him by name. Even those who didn't like Jesper or didn't like Wylan had accepted that the two were a pair. Merchers to the last, they kept their manners. Jesper was almost impressed not only by how many cast nervous glances at his revolvers, but how many managed to greet him anyway. Just for Wylan, Jesper did not antagonize the merchers. He could have casually pushed up his sleeves and given a glimpse of the crow and cup tattooed on his right arm—but the weather today was too cold for that, and Jesper was actively trying not to alienate the people Wylan had to work with.
Speaking of whom…
"Jes!"
Wylan's face lit up, a sight Jesper only had a moment to enjoy before Wylan was hugging him like it had been weeks rather than hours since they were last together. Jesper would never get tired of that.
"How was it?" Wylan asked, pulling back, searching Jesper's face for answers. He was sweating, pupils wide, marked the way Jesper used to be after an hour at the tables. The only difference was that once Wylan's jitters wore off, Jesper knew he would want—need—holding and soothing. Wylan didn't actually like public speaking. It happened to be necessary to his aims and he was good at it, but he didn't like it.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine now that you're here, my blessing," he said, pressing a kiss to Jesper's knuckles.
The endearment had rankled some the first time Jesper heard it. He knew Wylan meant it literally. Wylan had always accepted Jesper's powers more easily than Jesper himself accepted them. Maybe from someone else it would have been too much, but this was his Wylan, coupling the term with an open, adoring look, and Jesper had seen no choice but to accept that to Wylan, Jesper was a blessing.
"Come on," Wylan continued, "tell me everything. Where's your coat?"
The words were barely out but Wylan began removing his own coat. He had changed in the past few years, too—grown in confidence and just grown . Now they could kiss without Wylan standing on tiptoe.
By size alone, the idea of Jesper borrowing Wylan's coat was not absurd.
For every other reason, it was absolutely absurd.
Jesper stopped Wylan with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need your coat," he said, straightening the lapels. He let his hands linger, brushing a fingertip against the necklace tucked under Wylan's shirt, eliciting a soft sigh from Wylan. Then he resettled the coat. The cold might bother him, but it wouldn't make him susceptible to illness. He was zowa. He was Grisha. Whatever you called him, that seed of magic kept him immune to germs and other feeble nonsense.
"Right, right," Wylan said. "I want to hear all about your exam!" he concluded, lacing their fingers together.
Jesper laughed. "No, you don't," he said.
"I do!"
No, he didn't.
"You've been waiting for the end of the semester since two weeks in," Jesper retorted. Usually Wylan had eagerly helped him study, listened to Jesper read off his class notes and textbooks and latched onto the information as easily as he had reports and business correspondence. This semester's course in public administration had challenged both of them to the edges of their patience. Necessary, for his goals, but dull as rocks.
That wasn't fair. Wylan liked rocks for their history. Jesper was less impressed with sedimentary striations, but he appreciated the shiny rocks they sometimes gave one another.
"Then I'm pleased it's here," Wylan said.
"I passed and it's over?"
Wylan brought their linked fingers to his lips for a kiss as they stepped outside. Jesper swallowed a shiver. The kiss was nice. The air briefly made him wish he had accepted Wylan's coat.
"You did great."
"You always say that."
Wylan shrugged. "You always do great."
"Excuses."
"I'm sorry you're so brilliant, Jesper."
And with that, their game had begun.
"I'm sorry you make such a great study buddy."
They had a lot of games between them. Mostly they were things Jesper did, like when he would hold Wylan and demand a toll to release him, but this one Wylan had invented. The apology game. No one stated the rules. They simply evolved and were and Jesper loved it. He loved how fun their games could be in better times and the framework those games gave them when bad memories threatened to overwhelm either of them.
Wylan snickered. "Study buddy," he repeated.
"One of your many talents."
"Unlike wordplay, which is clearly your kingdom."
"Mm," Jesper replied, feeling Wylan begin to lean against him. The adrenaline was fading. Jesper unlaced their fingers to wrap his arm around Wylan's shoulders, inviting Wylan to lean more into him. They had been together for nearly a year when Wylan finally hit his growth. He was still the smaller of the two and fit tidily under Jesper's arm. Very convenient, especially at times like this. The public meetings were necessary but they wore Wylan out—not that Jesper had any complaints, either about his closeness, or about the warm windbreak he made. This was truly not the weather in which to skip one's coat.
When Jesper directed them toward a coffee house, Wylan shook his head. "We can't, Jes. Let's stop off at home instead. You need a coat."
"I'll be fine," Jesper objected, though he wanted his coat. Stubbornness required him to object.
"Jesper Llewellyn, we are going home or I will buy you a new coat, but we will not go to Second Harbor without a coat on you."
"You're not fun when you call me Llewellyn."
"I'm sorry, my love. One of us has to be practical and it's not going to be you."
Jesper snorted. "Sure, Mister Practical, the guy trying to convince the Kerch Merchant Council to invest in its schools over its weapons."
"Just you wait, that vote's going my way tomorrow morning."
"Mm, all right. Home it is. Just think what people would say if Councilman Van Eck went around with his husband in a shabby coat."
"You're not my husband yet."
Jesper laughed. "Of course, gorgeous. Just one more ring and I'll stop being hilarious."