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Gaudy Vawen arrived at the Lord of Zunidh’s apartments to collect his family an hour before the court ceremony was to begin. He felt incredibly awkward in the court robes of his service: too fancy, too fine, too refined.
The silk robes in bronze and orange and midnight blue were a far cry from what he’d worn the last time he’d been to court—the only other time he’d been to court—when he’d taken his uncle Kip’s hands and sworn himself to the service of the Glorious One. He still remembered the way his uncle had squeezed his hands when he’d sworn his oath, providing the support Gaudy had so desperately needed that day even while literally acting as the Hands of the Emperor.
Gaudy had always idolized his uncle for going to sit at the feet of the Sun like in all the old stories. He’d poured over every letter his uncle had ever sent home to his mother and to his grandmother. He’d begged to read the letters others in Gorjo City had received too: his great aunts and uncles, his older cousins; he’d even convinced his uncle Kip’s oldest friends to let him read their letters.
While making his oaths that first day, one thought had struck him as loudly as the great palace bells: in not one of those hundreds of letters home, not one, had his uncle ever explained just how important he was. As much as that knowledge infuriated him, it also made Gaudy that much more committed. When he swore his service to the Last Emperor through his uncle, he also swore—if only to himself—to serve his uncle just as well.
As he exchanged greetings with the two imperial guards stationed in front of the Lord of Zunidh’s apartments—taking the place of his uncle’s footmen so they could attend the ceremony with the rest of the household—Gaudy curled his hands into fists to avoid scrunching up the silk sleeves of his court robes anxiously. It was impossible to believe that he’d only been assigned to his uncle’s household for a few weeks. It felt like so much longer. But it had been less than three since his Radiancy’s heart attack, since his uncle Kip had been touched, marked, changed.
Less than two weeks had passed since Gaudy had stood in his Radiancy’s bedchamber, left alone in the Presence like no one had ever been before while the Sun-on-Earth’s innermost guards rushed to save his uncle’s life. He’d thought someone from the Imperial Guard would come talk to him after, to swear him to secrecy under threat of pain or worse, but no one had. That had to have been his Radiancy’s influence, he assumed. The guards couldn’t trust him that much; all they really knew of Gaudy was that he was the Lord Chancellor’s nephew and that he was giving his Radiancy language lessons once a week. Or, more accurately, that they were learning the Islander language together.
Gaudy’s own knowledge had been barely adequate to fumble his way through their first few meetings; after that, he’d written to his great uncle Lazo for anything that would help him—and his Radiancy—learn. Thankfully, his uncle had been more than happy to send him a box of books, several dictionaries, and even lesson-plans from a course at the university. How he’d collected them all so quickly, Gaudy didn’t know. He was only grateful that when you asked the Tana for help, they always came through.
As he passed into the inner rooms of the Lord of Zunidh’s apartments, Gaudy forced his thoughts back from their wide-ranging ramble. When he saw his family, he needed to be focused. No doubt they’d all be a bit overwhelmed, a bit confused, and more than a bit intimidated by the thought of attending such a high court ceremony. What they’d think of his uncle Kip being at the centre of it all was a completely different concern. At least none of them had heard any of the rumours being spread throughout the palace. The last thing he wanted to do was try and explain—again—that this ceremony wasn’t a wedding.
***
Everyone was gathered in the dining room. Not just his family—his mama, his grandmother, his sister, his great aunt Oura, and cousins Zemius, Quintus, and Dora—but also the rest of his uncle’s household: Franzel, Feonie, Shoanie, Hurin, Baion, and the rest. Zaoul and Tully were there as well, both dressed in robes that matched his own.
“Oh good, Gaudy’s here,” his mother said as he came through the doorway. “That’s the last of us I think.”
Gaudy exchanged looks with his uncle’s majordomo. Franzel appeared quite frazzled; no doubt he was worried about everything going perfectly for the Lord Chancellor’s family. “You’ve done wonders getting them all gathered—and on time too, Franzel,” Gaudy told him quietly. “I doubt anyone back home could have managed it. I know I couldn’t have.”
Franzel gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sayo Vawen. I am only glad Feonie and Shoanie took it upon themselves to make sure everyone was ready. Those two have a real gift for organizing people. I simply made certain they all had something to eat this morning. No matter how much I’ve warned them, I am quite certain that none of them truly understands just how long the ceremony will likely be.”
“Well, they’ll have something to talk about when they get home, at least,” Gaudy said fondly. “It’ll probably keep Gorjo City in gossip for weeks…if not months.”
Looking over everyone, Gaudy couldn’t help but smile. Both family and household looked magnificent—neither group more or less impressive than the other. That said a lot about how his uncle saw his household. They were truly his family here—from Franzel right down to Hurin and Baion who were much younger than even Gaudy was.
“Shall we go?” he asked.
***
The procession down to the throne room went without incident, much to Gaudy’s appreciation. While they passed other parties making the same journey through the halls—most notably the Princess of Mgunai and her retinue—none gave their group any more than casual glances. While everyone they passed surely recognized the colours of the Lord Chancellor’s household, the fact that the Lord Chancellor was obviously not with them meant that they weren’t worth noting.
Gaudy didn’t mind being ignored in the slightest—was glad for it, in fact—although he couldn’t help but wonder how the ceremony would change things for him. His mother and family would be leaving tomorrow, so they wouldn’t need to deal with any of the aftermath. Gaudy, Zaoul, Tully, and the rest of his uncle’s household were a different story.
Gaudy know Franzel and the rest of his uncle’s attendants would be moving to the Tower immediately after the family departed to give the Ouranatha free rein over the Lord of Zunidh’s apartments; the priest-wizards would be ensuring that every item in his uncle’s rooms was either blessed, purified, or—if restricted by a taboo—passed on to Gaudy, Zaoul, and Tully to manage accordingly.
Gaudy didn’t think his uncle had thought so far ahead as to realize just how many things he wouldn’t be able to handle himself anymore—like the small pen knife in his writing kit.
Until his uncle’s apartments were fully cleansed, Gaudy, Zaoul, and Tully would go back to working from the Private Offices. The only major change for them would be daily meetings with Lord Conju to learn what they needed to of the taboos so that they could manage the Lord Chancellor’s appointments, meetings, and future visitors accordingly.
As he led his family and his uncle’s household towards the nearest of the common entrances to the throne room—the great doors were only ever opened for the coronations and funerals of emperors—Gaudy realized how proscribed his uncle’s life would be for the next several years. He could only hope that the bond his uncle was completing with the Sun-on-Earth would be worth the annoyances and frustrations he’d have to deal with while living under the taboos.
In the quiet of his own mind, Gaudy also wished fervently that the added closeness would allow his uncle to voice his feelings for the Lord of Rising Stars. While he wasn’t certain his uncle cared for his Radiancy as much as his Radiancy obviously cared for his uncle, he was hopeful enough not to bet against it entirely in the household pool. Gaudy knew his uncle well enough not to bet that such a relationship would happen quickly—his uncle was entirely immune to subtle hints and his Radiancy would never press—but he hoped for both their sakes that they did, in fact, figure themselves out.
Two imperial guards stood at the common entrance, challenging everyone looking to enter the throne room. Gaudy recognizing both of the guards from one of his Radiancy’s anterooms; they’d chatted on several occasions. While the guards obviously recognized him in return, it didn’t stop them from issuing the traditional challenge. “Lord Mdang’s household and family—here as the invited guests of his Radiancy and the Lord Chancellor,” Gaudy answered.
“You are all very welcome, Sayo Vawen,” the one on the left said with a courteous nod. “One of the pages will show you to your seats.”
Gaudy gestured for the others to go ahead of him, not wanting anyone to stray or fall behind. While he heard a few gasps as they entered the throne room proper, his family was almost silent as they followed the page up the centre aisle of the throne room—to a section of seats close to the dais on the left hand side. In the equivalent seats on the right hand side, Gaudy recognized both the Prince of Amboloyo and the Prince of Western Dair. Given how discombobulated his family and even his uncle’s household looked, he refrained from mentioning their neighbours.
As his mother gazed around in awe, he squeezed her arm gently. “I remember when I came in here to swear my oaths to his Radiancy,” he whispered, knowing how well sound travelled in the throne room and not wanting to garner too much attention—even with the din of hundreds of other people finding and settling into their seats. “I was awestruck. Saya Kalikiri—she’s the one in charge of the daily workings of the Private Offices—had warned us beforehand how grand the throne room was, but I don’t think anything can really prepare you for entering this room for the first time. It’s said to be one of the great wonders of the nine worlds.”
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” his mother said softly, amazed, astonished, astounded.
His grandmother Eidora’s eyes were frozen on the brilliant mosaic floor, the precious gems and stones representing all nine worlds. “Such artistry,” she said, eyes tracing the lapis that denoted the wide seas of Zunidh.
“Such wealth,” his cousin Quintus said, shaking his head. “To think that the Empire of Astandalas was so great that the emperors could embed rare jewels into their tile work for people to walk over. I can only imagine what the city itself was like before…”
Before the Fall, Gaudy knew his cousin meant. His uncle Kip had never spoken much about his time serving in Astandalas before the Fall. All he’d ever really said was that much as Astandalas the Golden had been spectacular, the people hadn’t lived up to his expectations. Gaudy knew his uncle hadn’t met the Last Emperor before the Fall. Sometimes he wondered if the world might have been different if the two of them had met sooner. But then, if his uncle had met his Radiancy’s eyes before the Fall, he would have died—so it was probably better that they hadn’t.
Before Gaudy could say anything to his cousin Quintus, the bells chimed the hour. Gaudy made a quick motion to signal to everyone that it was time to be silent. Given how the throne room immediately went quiet, the signal probably wasn’t needed for anyone but his cousin Dora. When he looked her way, she put a finger over her lips. His little cousin had promised all of them that she’d be quiet as long as she had to, that she would never be rude to Lord Artorin when he’d been so nice to let them all take a sky ship to visit him. Gaudy could only hope that Dora’s promise lasted the entire court ceremony.
When the trumpeters began the Imperial Fanfare, Gaudy’s attention pulled away from his family; his eyes rose to the upper dais in time to see two imperial guards enter and take positions behind and to either side of the throne. As the fanfare ended, the emperor entered, dressed in a glittering court costume of white and gold and imperial yellow, a fountain of iridescent pearls, and what had to be thousands of tiny diamonds. Even knowing his Radiancy well enough to almost argue over the meaning of an Islander phrase, Gaudy couldn’t help but stare at the Glorious One looking truly glorious, truly serene, truly radiant. As he came to stand before his throne—a relatively simple and surprisingly comfortable looking chair covered in gold leaf—the Sun-on-Earth seemed no less than divine: the god so many worshiped him as. And above his head, as if the reminder was needed, a magnificent hanging wrought from fabled meriweather cloth. The standard of Astandalas: white and black side by side, overlaid with a gold sun-in-glory.
At the emperor’s entrance, everyone in the throne room except for the guards went down into the obeisances. The Sun-on-Earth allowed it for a moment before seating himself and motioning for everyone to rise and take their seats. As he did, Gaudy noticed that one of the high priests—wearing the mask representing the Sun—must have entered through the side door as they were now standing to the side of the lower dais.
At his Radiancy’s nod, the high priest began to speak, offering a long soliloquy that Gaudy only paid the barest attention to; his eyes remained on his Radiancy. Gaudy knew it was bad form, knew few people beyond his uncle actually looked at the Sun-on-Earth's face or in his eyes, but he couldn’t help it. Unlike the rest of the audience, he’d seen just how human the Sun-on-Earth was, how affected he had been when one he loved was put at risk. Gaudy stared at the man who he couldn’t believe was a god, much as he looked like one, and wondered what he was thinking. His Radiancy’s face certainly gave nothing away; it remained perfectly calm, perfectly serene.
When the priest was done speaking, his Radiancy’s gaze went to the far end of the throne room, to where several guards stood to either side of the great doors. The doors that were only ever opened for the coronations and funerals of emperors.
“As all of you know, three weeks ago, we had a heart attack and very nearly lost our life. What you may not know is the role that Cliopher Lord Mdang played in saving us,” the Sun-on-Earth started, his words easily reaching every ear in the room. “When we felt the divine lands beckoning, it was only the stubborn will of Cliopher Lord Mdang that kept us from going. He called us back, gave us a rock to hold fast to—and we do mean hold.”
Several in the audience gasped. Gaudy wasn’t one. He already knew this story. As did his family and the members of his uncle’s household.
His Radiancy gave the audience a moment to settle. “Our touch was not without consequence. Lord Mdang has been well marked by our touch, both inside and out. He wears the marks of our touch on his skin. He bears the weight of our magic on his soul.”
He paused, tilted his head in consideration, although Gaudy assumed it was a planned motion. “The previous high priests believed that Cliopher Mdang needed to die to heal the wound created by the broken taboo. Took it upon themselves to see it done. What they failed to recognize was that it was not only the tapestry of Schooled magic that was affected. It was wild magic as well. Solving the one would not solve the other; it would only cause more havoc for Zunidh in the days and years to come.”
He paused again, eyes watching the great doors opposite. Gaudy’s heart stuttered as he began to see where his Radiancy was going—where he was leading.
"As mentioned in our announcement, we have determined that the most agreeable solution to address the array of magical ramifications caused by our touch is to complete the bond between ourselves and our most beloved Cliopher Lord Mdang and adjust the tapestry of Schooled magic accordingly. Once our bond is completed, we will be as one in the eyes of both Schooled and wild magic. Our greatest wish is for this to be true in our court as well."
Gaudy bit his lips to keep from responding audibly. He wondered whether his Radiancy had told his uncle Kip about this speech beforehand. Something within him doubted it greatly. Did his Radiancy have any idea how much it sounded like a declaration of intent? Surely, he had to. Surely.
"It is for this reason you are all here today," his Radiancy continued, not privy to Gaudy's private thoughts and conjecture. "We would ask our court to bear witness to our commitment, to our promise. As Cliopher Lord Mdang accepts being subject to the Imperial Taboos still applicable to ourselves after the Fall of Astandalas, we promise to work hand-in-hand with him over the next few years to reshape our government so that we can retire on the occasion of our Jubilee with a glad heart, knowing the Lady or Lord of Zunidh who comes after us will be well positioned to bear the torch forward."
His Radiancy nodded firmly, serenely—either gloriously aware or gloriously unaware of how his words would be heard.
"In the name of starting as we mean to go on, guards, open the doors."
***
Soundlessly, the great doors of the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars opened for the first time since the Sun-on-Earth himself had become emperor. The room was beyond silent as every eye turned towards the great doors, recognizing the weight of their opening, recognizing the weight of the Sun-on-Earth's words.
Gaudy was utterly certain his uncle had no idea. As declarations went, he expected even this might go over his uncle's head.
He peered down the long aisleway. The high priest wearing the mask representing the moon entered the throne room first, making gestures with his hands as he moved steadily forward. Blessings, prayers, magic: Gaudy wasn't certain.
His Uncle Kip—Cliopher Lord Mdang, the Lord Chancellor, the…he wasn't sure what to call him anymore—came next.
Gaudy felt his mother squeeze his arm as his uncle came into view—court costume brilliant white, gold, orange, bronze and midnight blue. If Gaudy's own robes were superlative; his uncle's court costume was a work of magic.
As his uncle made his way towards the dais, his mantle of midnight blue flickered with light. No, with fire. Gaudy couldn't help but gasp—and he wasn't the only one. His cousin Quintus broke protocol entirely, whispering, "What a Mdang thing to wear."
His uncle crossed the jeweled floor of the throne room shimmering with fire and what felt like a corona of magic. Two impressively clad imperial guards walked at his back. Gaudy knew both of them well: Commander Omo and Ser Rhodin an Gaiange—the most senior members of the Imperial Guard. That would say something to the aristocratic audience as well, Gaudy thought, although perhaps not intentionally. They were two of his uncle's dearest friends after all.
His uncle's face was almost as serene as the Glorious One's. Almost, but not quite. As he drew closer, Gaudy could see that his uncle's hands were near trembling, his eyes slightly too wide. And then, two thirds of the way to the dais, his uncle froze. His eyes widened almost to saucers, and a brilliant burst of something—magic, it had to be magic—cascaded through the room.
Gaudy followed his uncle's gaze, turned toward the dais to see the Sun-on-Earth descending the steps to the lower dais. But the Lord of Rising Stars didn't stop there. The Last Emperor of Astandalas descended the stairs nearest Gaudy until he was standing on the jeweled floor of the throne room. Gaudy, and everyone in the audience besides the guards and the high priests, immediately went down into full obeisances.
Protocol was to not look at the emperor. When in an obeisance, the most you were allowed to do was tilt your head very slightly so you could see his Radiancy's fingers making the gesture to rise. In that moment, Gaudy ignored etiquette completely, raising his head far more than was allowable because he wanted to see—needed to.
In the centre of a sea of people bowing low to the ground, his uncle stood tall, remained tall. Gaudy could tell he was trembling, but he kept to his feet—faced the approaching Sun-on-Earth as no one ever had: as an equal.
Gaudy caught the moment his Radiancy broke his serenity and smiled—fully, clearly, radiantly. He caught the moment his uncle’s lips turned ever so slightly up in return.
"My dear Kip," the Lord of Rising Stars said, his soft words resonating throughout the room despite being whispered.
Gaudy imagined his own eyes were wide, not that anyone would see. No one was looking at him. Not that many would be looking directly at them either. Except, he imagined, his own family. But everyone, everyone, could hear them. "My dear Tor," Uncle Kip said, as soft, as well heard.
Someone's gasp echoed through the throne room—loud, but certainly not alone. Gaudy didn't look; he kept his eyes firmly on the Sun-on-Earth and his uncle. As he watched, his Radiancy reached out a hand—and his uncle Kip took it. It was impossible to miss how hard his uncle clung to the Sun-on-Earth, as if he were a rock to hold on to in a typhoon. Perhaps to Uncle Kip, he was.
***
After the incredibly intense beginning, it was impossible to believe how quickly the court ceremony shifted into monotony.
Gaudy hadn't ever realized how boring Schooled magic was. The high priests chanted, burned incense, made gestures—over and over and over again, or so it seemed. Why do something once when you could do it a thousand times? He couldn't help but wonder whether the Ouranatha could have made the ritual shorter—if it was only as long as it was to project their own power, their own sense of authority. He realized that Saya Kalikiri had not been wrong when she’d said that court ceremonies weren't nearly as exciting as they sounded.
His uncle and his Radiancy weathered the drawn-out ritual by holding hands and gazing at each other. While entertaining to watch for a little while, Gaudy eventually turned his attention inward, going over the reports that had been piling up for his uncle while he'd been off with the family and then undergoing the cleansing rituals. He made a list in his head of the ones his uncle would likely want to see first. While it might be a week or two before his uncle resumed work, there was nothing wrong with being well prepared.
***
A flare of magic brought Gaudy's attention back to the ceremony. Like his uncle, he didn't have any magic, but even he couldn't miss the energy radiating from the lower dais—or the crackling orb of light, of lightning, surrounding his uncle and his Radiancy. To Gaudy, the orb looked…furious was the only word he could find. Could magic be furious?
A quick glance at his mother and the rest of the family said he wasn't the only one who could see the magic surrounding Uncle Kip—who was worried about it. His mother’s forehead was wrinkled with tension; her fingers dug tightly into his arm.
"It's not the same," Uncle Kip said, words coming to Gaudy's ears as clear as day despite the crackle of lightning. Such was the magic of the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars: any word spoken could be heard from anywhere in the room. "It's not the same because I have you."
Gaudy heard the certainty in his uncle's tone and realized what the lightning must be. Not simply magic, but the miasma of a hundred taboos waiting to take hold of his uncle. He hadn't thought of the taboos as being alive before now, but looking at the ball of lightning, it was hard not to see them as sharks waiting for a new meal. He shuddered, even as his uncle calmly told the Lord of Rising Stars, "It's fine."
Gaudy shook his head in wonder at his uncle's easy acceptance. He assumed the orb had to be as awful from the inside as from the out–if not more so. He couldn't see the Sun-on-Earth's face clearly through the lightning, but his tone was easily as disbelieving as his own thoughts. "Of course, it is, my dear Kip," his Radiancy said. "Of course, it is."
There was a short pause, then the Sun-on-Earth pulled his uncle into an embrace and said, "Hold on then."
Worry knotted in Gaudy's throat as he watched that orb of lightning crackle and hiss and pop. And then, between one moment and the next, it shrank around his Radiancy and his uncle, flaring with blinding light. When Gaudy could see again, the visible magic was gone, but his uncle was shuddering hard in his Radiancy's arms.
Gaudy felt tears pooling in his eyes as he watched his uncle tremble with pain. He waited for the taboos to settle, for his uncle to come out of it, but the attack—and it was an attack, he was certain of it—went on and on and on.
The entire throne room was deathly silent; the only sound, a soft and desperate plea that everyone heard clearly, too clearly—his Radiancy, whispering over and over: "I have you."
***
The attack lasted for over an hour—as evidenced by the suddenly bitter sound of the bells. By the end, Gaudy held his distraught mother in his arms almost as tightly as the Lord of Rising Stars held his uncle Kip.
Eyes frozen on his uncle in his Radiancy's arms, Gaudy saw the moment he twitched, shifted, came back to himself. The Sun-on-Earth released his uncle, let him step back—but apparently couldn't stand the separation because he immediately reached out for Uncle Kip’s hand as if desperately needing reassurance. Gaudy couldn't be surprised. Not after that. "Kip?" his Radiancy whispered.
"I'm fine." Uncle Kip's words were barely a whisper, not fine at all.
Gaudy rolled his eyes even as his Radiancy shook his head and said, "I am sure you are, my dear Kip.” The Sun-on-Earth shut his eyes, probably despairing at Uncle Kip’s definition of the word, Fine.
His uncle seemed older than he ever had to Gaudy—his face drawn, his form slightly unsteady, as if ready to collapse. But all he said was, "And besides, this next part should more than make up for it, I believe?"
The Sun-on-Earth's face smoothed back into his usual serenity. "It is the easy part," he said quietly—to Uncle Kip, even if every ear in the throne room could also hear his words. Gaudy squeezed his mother gently. She’d turned back to face the dais—like him, wanting to see what would happen next, possibly even praying it would truly be easier. Gaudy couldn't imagine anything being harder than what they'd just borne witness to.
"This is the easy part," his uncle said confidently—too brightly in Gaudy’s opinion. He was probably trying to reassure his Radiancy—not that the Sun-on-Earth looked even the slightest bit reassured; his face, serene as it was, seemed guilty, devastated. No doubt he blamed the hour and more of Uncle Kip’s pain on himself. Gaudy's heart hurt watching him.
"Tor," Uncle Kip said, likely well aware of his Radiancy's grief; he squeezed the Sun-on-Earth's hands, looked him full in the eyes—or so Gaudy guessed from the sliver of his uncle’s face he could see.
The Lord of Rising Stars didn’t move. "Tor," Uncle Kip said a second time. Gaudy imagined his uncle was thinking hard, trying to figure out the best way to call his Radiancy back from whatever fears trapped him.
"Tor," Uncle Kip said a third time. Three was a number out of the Lays, Gaudy knew, feeling a sense of momentousness building, and building, and building. His uncle didn't disappoint—with the heavy weight of conviction, he sent three words echoing through the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars: "I choose you."
Gaudy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as his Radiancy's eyes widened with utter astonishment. And then, the Sun-on-Earth beamed, magic bursting out around him, radiant and glorious. For a moment, Gaudy imagined this was what his Radiancy must have looked like before the Fall, when everyone said the emperor had actually glowed. But no, this had to be far better because this radiance, this magic was fueled by the Sun-on-Earth's pure delight, wonder, adoration, love.
The magic blazed around the Sun-on-Earth. An answering echo blazed around his uncle Kip—and then, all Gaudy could see was one brilliant light, one brilliant fire swirling around them both. Joy resonated through the fire, through Gaudy, through the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars.
***
The magical fire that Gaudy knew was the sign of the completed wild magic bond between the Sun on Earth and his uncle Kip dissipated quickly—at least for him. Glancing around the throne room, he could see those he knew had gifts of magic still mesmerized by whatever they were seeing.
Two now become one in the eyes of magic, Gaudy thought. His uncle had explained what the wild magic bond was meant to do, but now Gaudy actually understood. He'd seen it; even if he never saw it again, the singular connection between his uncle and the Sun-on-Earth wasn't something he would ever, could ever, forget.
Uncle Kip’s laugher echoed unexpectedly through the throne room. Gaudy turned sharply to the dais, but his uncle was still facing mostly away from him. His Radiancy had a slightly bemused smile on his face, even as he gripped Uncle Kip's hands hard—probably reminding him that they were in public. But then, the Sun-on-Earth started laughing too. Gaudy wasn't certain he'd ever heard his Radiancy laugh before. Certainly not like this—not so open, so effervescent.
"Oh," Uncle Kip said, seemingly surprised. He didn't say anything more.
The two of them kept gazing at each other, smiling, laughing, near giddy. It was as if they were speaking a secret language—as if they'd forgotten they were standing on the lower dais in the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars with all the eyes of the court on them.
When his uncle Kip reached up and pulled his Radiancy into the Islander greeting, pressed their foreheads together and whispered, "You're remarkable," Gaudy knew for certain his uncle was somewhere else, somewhere where it was only them. His words were too gentle, too honest, too adoring.
The Sun-on-Earth seemed to recall where they were first. He took Gaudy’s uncle’s hands and brought them down, holding them between their bodies, hiding how tightly they were clinging to each other. Not that anyone who’d just witnessed the completion of the wild magic bond would ever question their need for one other—not one would ever question their devotion to each other.
***
Gaudy couldn't help but be amused when the two high priests stepped to the front of the dais, apparently coming to the conclusion that while the ceremony was most certainly over, the Sun-on-Earth wasn't going to come out of whatever connection he had forged with Cliopher Lord Mdang long enough to give the final benediction and blessing.
He was almost certain that neither his uncle Kip, nor his Radiancy heard anything the high priest representing the Sun said to close out the ceremony, even if half the blessings were focused on them. To be fair, Gaudy doubted anyone in the audience was listening to the high priests either. He certainly wasn't; his mind was too full of what he'd just witnessed—from the immense pain of the Imperial taboos falling on his uncle to the great conflagration of magic and effervescent joy that had followed, binding his uncle and the Lord of Rising Stars together for the rest of their lives.
His Radiancy seemed more attuned to what was happening on the dais than Gaudy had guessed. A few moments after the high priest finished speaking, the Sun-on-Earth shifted sideways, then used a shoulder to nudge Uncle Kip around so they were both facing fully forward. As his uncle Kip’s eyes widened, no doubt finally remembering that they had an audience, his Radiancy reached out and took his hand again, twining their fingers together as if he couldn't bear to let go. Perhaps, after all that had happened between them, he couldn't.
Perfectly in sync, and hand-in-hand, Gaudy’s uncle and the Lord of Rising Stars descended the staircase to the jewelled floor of the throne room. Gaudy, and everyone else in the audience, quickly moved into full obeisances—holding them until the Sun-on-Earth made the gesture to rise.
As Gaudy stood, his eyes remained on his uncle, whose eyes darted back and forth across the throne room, taking in the hundreds watching as if shocked that anyone was still there. And then, his uncle Kip caught sight of them. His eyes flared wide with instant recognition, stopping on his mother first, then on his sister—Gaudy’s mother—Gaudy, and the rest; his eyes smiled, even as he looked like he was desperately trying to maintain a semblance of calm.
But then, his uncle Kip winked. Gaudy bit his lips to keep from laughing out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother smile wide and grab hold of his grandmother’s arm. He smiled, amused at how such a little thing could make them all feel so much better.
Then his uncle and his Radiancy were beyond the family, heading towards the great doors. Gaudy wasn’t sure whether the family would see him—or them—tomorrow before they left, but at least now they had the most important thing: confirmation that their Kip was well.
Gaudy smiled to himself. His thoughts leapt ahead to dinner, hoping that after the long ceremony his family would still be up for a last trip down into the city. Of course, just when he felt comfortable enough to contemplate restaurant options, his cousin Dora’s voice billowed outward—at a level far too loud for a room where even whispers were carried on wings of magic: “Did Lord Artorin just marry Cousin Kip?”
Gaudy's cheeks blazed in embarrassment. But when he looked around the throne room, he realized no one was laughing. Some of the Upper Secretariat guests were smiling—including Saya Kalikiri, who he realized had been positioned only a few rows behind him. Others were nodding quite emphatically—a fact that made Gaudy want to sigh, but it wasn't like he didn't know almost from the beginning of the ceremony what way the direction was going to blow.
And then, across the aisle, there was Prince Rufus—who looked like someone had just pulled a carpet out from under his feet. As Gaudy watched, however, the Prince of Amboloyo shook his head, then smiled as if struck by a sudden thought. As the great doors of the Throne Room of the Palace of Stars soundlessly swung shut in the wake of the Last Emperor and Uncle Kip's departure, Prince Rufus straightened his back, turned sideways to look at the Prince of Western Dair, and in a voice that he no doubt knew would carry to every ear in the room, said, "I suppose we shall have to refer to him as the Lord Consort from now on."