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“It is a critical juncture, Serenity,” Lord Bromar, the Witness for Foreigners, had said when he first approached Maia on the subject of an official imperial visit to the neighbouring country of Celvaz. “The Celvazheise have always been a belligerent people—” here Bromar muttered an aside that sounded suspiciously like barbarians, “—and we do not wish them to turn their designs upon us once again. The last war…”
And Maia had listened, and agreed that another invasion would be devastating, and that all possible efforts should be made to secure good relations between the two countries. ‘All possible efforts’ had turned out to be a state visit, the first to any country since the time of Maia's great-grandfather, Varenechibel III. His father’s relationship with the Celvazheise had been chilly at best, but the diplomats had thawed matters enough to produce the invitation, and Maia had a chance to secure a peace that would otherwise be devastatingly fought for.
It seemed to him almost inevitable, then, that something would go wrong. The Celvazheise were a rigid people, with a thousand strictures and customs that must be followed so as not to give offense. The first morning’s preparations had involved Lord Bromar; Oranis Verashar, the Ethuvereise ambassador to the Kingdom of Celvaz; and enough tension and frustration to give all three of them a sick headache. Csevet’s taking over of his instruction on subsequent mornings had left Maia profoundly grateful. However, despite his secretary’s patient coaching, there were still an almost insurmountable number of potential pitfalls into which an unwary emperor might stumble, ranging from when to use one’s napkin at dinner to the specific length of the eye contact that should be made with the king. Maia was doing his best, but he was sure that an army of diplomats on both sides must be working around the clock to smooth over his many missteps and keep the prickly Celvazheise from taking offense.
He was constantly on edge, striving to remember at every given moment what he should or should not be doing. He had been unable to enjoy the afternoon in the zoological gardens, or the visit to the Royal Museum, or the concert by the great Orchestra Celvazi; and although he had spoken to the king on more than one occasion, he had no idea what had been said. He could only hope the translators had masked the worst of his ineptitude.
This afternoon was a religious ceremony—this was, Lord Bromar had informed him with a sneer, a day sacred to the Celvazheise goddess—and Maia had been invited to take a role in it. According to Verashar it was a great honour to be allowed to participate, but Maia couldn’t help but wish that this particular honour had passed him by.
The ceremony took place in the throne room of the Celvazheise palace, a large chamber with high vaulted ceilings, and windows of coloured glass that bathed the tiled floor in rainbow hues. The royal family was there, along with members of the nobility, standing in rows below the dais where the ceremony was taking place. Maia felt their eyes upon him, as if he were one of the great cats or strange feathered serpents at the zoological gardens. All he had to do was recite a simple prayer in Celvazhin, then hold a carved bowl of powdered herbs before him and pass it to the Celvazheise High Priest at the appropriate point of the ceremony. The ceremony had even been modified slightly to allow his nohecharei to remain by his side. Maia barely stumbled over the prayer—a testament to Csevet’s coaching—then all he had to do was wait for his cue to relinquish the bowl. The Celvazheise priests banged their drums and chanted, occasionally raising their heads and giving voice to a loud cry, of agony or ecstasy Maia was unsure. He was exhausted and too warm, and the incense in the air made him dizzy.
The High Priest appeared before him suddenly, too close, too loud. For a brief moment he was back in the parlour at Edonomee with Setheris looming over him. Instinctively, Maia flinched away, the bowl flying from his hands in a scattering of powdered herbs. It hit the floor and split in two, right down the middle.
In the midst of the sudden flurry of movement around him, he was aware of Cala and Beshelar guiding him gently from the room and through the maze of corridors that led to the suite of rooms they were occupying for the duration of their visit. Cala opened the door to Maia’s parlour, where Csevet sat at a writing desk in the corner, working on his ever-present mountain of paperwork. At the sight of Maia he leapt to his feet and came to help Cala and Beshelar settle their emperor in a chair, all three of them handling him as delicately as if he were made of finest silk.
Maia thought vaguely that perhaps he should not be so resigned to his secretary and his nohecharei taking charge of him as if he were a child, but the greater part of him was possessed with a kind of numb horror, as if his body had taken a blow but his mind had yet to register the pain. He was peripherally aware of Csevet and Beshelar conferring behind him, but did not break from his stupor until he heard Csevet say, “Serenity?”
He opened his eyes—and why had they even been closed, thou art emperor, not a sulking child—and Csevet stood before him, a steaming cup of tea in his outstretched hands. Maia took it, inhaling its warmth as if to melt the ice inside him.
“Lord Bromar and Osmer Verashar will be speaking with the Celvazheise diplomats,” Csevet stated, his expression carefully neutral. “Is there anything you need, Serenity? They may be some time.”
Only that the hopes of the Ethuveraz not rest on the shoulders of a fumble-fingered halfwit. “No, thank you,” Maia forced himself to reply. “We wish to... Is there work that must be done?”
Csevet nodded, understanding, and produced a sheaf of papers. Maia turned his mind to his correspondence, and if he clutched Csevet’s murmured, “All will be well, Serenity,” to himself as a drowning man would grasp a rope, he would be the only one who knew it.
*
Maia’s tea had grown cold and been replaced more than once by the time Lord Bromar and Oranis Verashar returned. Bromar looked irritated but not concerned, and the iron bands around Maia’s chest loosened.
Verashar bowed respectfully. “Serenity, we believe we have negotiated a resolution to this... unfortunate incident. The Celvazheise are obviously upset, as it amounts to a sort of desecration or sacrilege. A spurning of the Goddess’ grace, if you will.”
Bromar rolled his eyes, and Maia was moved to wonder once again how the man had become the Witness for Foreigners given his blatant dislike of them. “Essentially, Serenity, they require a penance to be paid, and that will redress the offense.”
“A penance?” Maia wondered with some trepidation what the Celvazheise, with their rigid ideology, might require of him.
Verashar hastened to reassure him. “Not yourself, Serenity. The Celvazheise do not require those of noble birth to perform their own penance; it would degrade them in the eyes of the common people.” From beside him, Maia heard Beshelar’s faint noise of disapproval.
“The Celvazheise have a ritual,” Bromar continued, his ears flicking impatiently. “Your Serenity chooses a representative, the ritual is performed, and the diplomatic discussions may resume without hostility.”
“Just like that?” Maia could barely hope.
“Serenity.” Verashar bowed again. "Your Serenity must choose a vedjet, a proxy of low birth, to undergo the rite of kezeruk. Once he is successful, the Celvazheise will consider it as though the offense never took place. The ritual wipes the slate clean, as it were.”
“We see. And what is involved in this rite, that the Celvazheise would consider it sufficient payment for the desecration of their ceremony?”
Verashar’s ears lowered. “The Celvazheise priests will stand in two long lines, facing one another, and the penitent must walk between them, from one end to the other. As he walks, he will... That is... Your Serenity must understand, these customs are—”
“Merciful goddesses, get to the point!” Bromar's patience had obviously run out. “As the vedjet walks between the lines, the priests will strike him, one time each, with a knotted rope. Once he reaches the end, these barbarians will consider his duty done.”
Beside Maia, Cala took a deep, measured breath, while Beshelar radiated disapproval. Verashar also seemed unhappy, although Maia was unsure if that was due to the nature of the punishment or to Bromar’s use of the word ‘barbarians.’ Maia himself was dazed, as if floundering in pursuit of his thoughts through the marshes near Edonomee. The mere thought of the punishment made him feel shaky and ill, and as for sending another to go through it in his place—
He started from his thoughts as Csevet stepped in front of him. The secretary prostrated himself, then rose gracefully to his feet. “Serenity, we offer ourselves as the vedjet.”
“No!”
Bromar raised an eyebrow, and Verashar looked shocked at Maia’s outburst.
Maia took a deep breath and bit back the words of protest that were trying to spill out. “That is, we are not... Is there no other option? Can we do nothing else to satisfy the Celvazheise?”
“No, Serenity.” Bromar at least had the grace to look apologetic. “They were very clear. Either this ritual will be done, or we may return to the Ethuveraz and let the consequences fall as they may.”
“This was a great concession for them to make,” Verashar added, his ears low. “They are a proud people, and it was a grave offense.”
It was an accident, Maia thought bitterly. “We will not have it. Find someone else.”
“There is no one else, Serenity,” said Csevet gently, exchanging significant glances with Cala and Beshelar.
“It cannot be a member of your nohecharei or the imperial guard,” Bromar stated. “You must not be left unprotected, and the Celvazheise would take it as weakness for you to have less than the full complement of soldiers. Osmer Verashar is highborn, as am I. Would you rather one of your edocharei? A page boy?”
Maia was silent for a long moment, his breath caught in his throat like a lump of raw dough. “Very well,” he finally managed to scrape out. He gestured blindly toward the door, then dropped his head into his hands, uncaring if the others should see their emperor like this.
“Serenity,” Csevet murmured, and Maia heard the sound of heels striking flagstones as he left the room, accompanied by Bromar and Verashar.
Maia wanted to call them back, to at least say something to show—what? What could he possibly say, now that his clumsiness had led to Csevet preparing to be beaten like a hound. Edrehasivar Half-Tongue, what couldst thou say? Wouldst fumble words as badly as that bowl.
“Serenity?” Cala sounded concerned.
Maia forced himself to raise his head, not quite able to look his nohecharei in the eyes. What kind of emperor was he, that he could not protect his subjects, even those most loyal to him?
“Do not be concerned, Serenity,” Beshelar said firmly. “Mer Aisava will do his duty.”
“We are not concerned about his duty!” Maia spat. “He should—We should not have…”
"No, Serenity.” Cala’s tone was gentle. "If it saves good relations between the Ethuveraz and the Celvazheise, if it prevents a war... We knew that there might be difficulties going into this, and we were prepared. We hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but…” He shrugged.
“‘We’?” It was the plural, not the formal first, and Maia did not know what to make of it. “In what way were you ‘prepared’?”
“To do what had to be done,” Beshelar stated bluntly. “If the Celvazheise took offense. We researched—Mer Aisava, Cala Athmaza, and myself—what we could about their beliefs and rituals, and we decided on contingency plans in the event that they were needed.”
“It was a very military exercise,” Cala put in dryly.
“And this was one of your ‘contingency plans’?”
Cala nodded, his expression turning grave. “The vedjet features in a number of atonement rituals. Mer Aisava thought it best to take that duty upon himself. If the offense had required atonement through combat, Lieutenant Beshelar would have stepped in. And so on, through the various rites of penitence. Between us, we were prepared.”
Maia stared at him blankly.
“We didn’t want you to have to command it,” Cala said softly.
“It seemed an unnecessary burden,” Beshelar added.
And Maia could have wept for their kindness.
*
The rite of kezeruk took place in a chill, vaulted chamber on the lowest level of the palace. Below ground, the only light came from numerous flickering torches, their shifting flames casting macabre shadows, the ceiling invisible in the blackness. Maia shivered, wondering grimly what other rites of repentance had taken place here.
He took a seat on the dais at the end of the room, his nohecharei behind him, trying to block out his thoughts and concentrate on the hurried instructions Lord Bromar had given him, so different from Csevet’s patient tutelage. He forced himself to focus, taking deep, measured breaths. His part in this ritual was small, but he could not afford another error.
Some hidden signal must have been given, for a door to the side of the chamber opened. In strode dozens of dark-robed, hooded priests, who marched in silent rows to take up their positions before him. The High Priest mounted the dais and seated himself next to Maia, his face expressionless. Maia took a deep breath, and fought to keep himself from recoiling. The High Priest nodded once, and a priest near the back of the room flung open the double doors at the far end. There stood Csevet, barefoot and stripped to the waist. He lifted his eyes to meet Maia’s, his face calm despite the tension in his frame.
Maia rose to his feet, a brief moment of dizzying terror making his head spin. Then he managed to find his voice. He repeated the Celvazheise phrases Bromar had taught him, with only the slightest idea of their meaning—informing the goddess that the vedjet was to represent him, and that he hoped She would accept the penance offered. He tried to sound sincere, even while the desire to call a halt to the proceedings choked him.
Speech over, he sat back down, trying to make it seem other than the controlled collapse it was. The High Priest stood and spoke briefly, his voice deep and carrying. He ended on a single sharp command, and Csevet stepped forward.
The smack of the first knotted rope against Csevet’s naked back was startling in the silence. Maia jerked in his seat as Csevet flinched, face twisting in pain. Another sharp blow as the second priest swung, and Maia dug his fingernails into the arms of the chair, hard enough to leave marks in the wood. Csevet continued to walk slowly toward the dais, toward Maia. Maia did his best to remain calm, expressionless, and he could see Csevet doing the same, despite the blows. The priests were like an avalanche, impassive, inexorable.
Soon Maia was lost in a blur of misery, unable to watch what was happening before him but equally unable to turn away. He had to witness, not only to honour the customs of the Celvazheise but to honour Csevet, who had taken this upon himself for his Emperor’s sake. Maia breathed deeply, trying to still the queasiness inside.
Csevet was walking more slowly now, his face pale and drawn. He had travelled more than halfway down the gantlet when he stumbled. Only Cala’s hand on Maia’s shoulder stopped him from leaping to his feet, calling off this whole charade as he should have done before it started. He bit his lip and forced himself to remain silent.
The closer Csevet came to Maia, the more he stumbled. The blows continued to fall, and he now made no effort to hide the pain. As he neared the end of the line Maia could see the sweat standing out on his brow, his face damp with involuntary tears. But his eyes remained fixed on Maia, like a ship following a lighthouse to safe harbour.
And suddenly, finally, it was over. Maia had grown so accustomed to the sound of ropes striking flesh that the silence rang in his ears. He stood and reached out a hand to Csevet, glad that the final part of the ritual required no more of him than this.
Csevet bowed his head wearily, as if laying down a great burden, then turned unsteadily away. Maia’s stomach turned at the sight of his back, stripes of blood standing out against his pale skin like wine upon the snow. Two priests led him away, supporting him as he faltered. Finally, the High Priest made a solemn pronouncement, and it was done. Maia collapsed back in his chair as the remaining priests solemnly filed out of the room, feeling suddenly as if the whole world was spinning.
“Breathe, Serenity,” Cala murmured behind him, his hand still firm and warm on Maia’s shoulder.
*
Maia wanted to go to Csevet immediately, to see with his own eyes what damage had been wrought, but his first attempt at rising from his chair had him falling back, legs as limp as boiled cabbage. His second attempt was waylaid by Lord Bromar and Oranis Verashar, arriving to tell him that the Celvazheise desire for penance had been satisfied.
“They were very pleased, Serenity,” Verashar observed. “In fact, we think this has greatly improved their opinion of us. That your Serenity would so willingly respect their traditions and participate in their customs... Yes, we think this visit is likely to be a resounding success.”
Maia was unsure how this news made him feel, the threads of relief and hope all tangled up in anger, and guilt, and a dozen other emotions he could neither name nor identify. “Thank you, Osmer Verashar,” he replied, pleased that his voice remained steady. "At this time, however, we should like to check on Cs—Mer Aisava.”
It was late, and the hallways were empty and echoing as Maia made his way back to the Ethuvereise suite. Csevet’s door stood ajar, and Maia could hear the murmur of voices beyond. They broke off as Maia came closer, and he was glad to see Kiru Athmaza peer through the doorway. He took in the sight of her, calm and competent as always, and was thankful that someone had had the sense to rouse her.
“Serenity.” She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Mer Aisava will be fine. There will be pain, of course, and stiffness; the next while will not be pleasant. The bleeding is controlled, however, and the welts on his back should heal cleanly.”
Maia was overcome by a rush of relief so great he could not speak.
“Are you well, Serenity?” Her hand was soft, gentle on his arm.
“Yes, thank you." Maia swallowed. "And thank you for tending to him. May we—May we see him?”
“Of course.” Kiru smiled. “He has been asking after you. We have given him something for the pain, so he will not be awake for long.”
Maia nodded, and entered the room. Csevet lay prone, his back swathed in bandages. His face was turned to the side, skin pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Maia’s thoughts flew back to another sickbed, another time, and he had to remind himself that Csevet was not dying. He would be fine, Kiru had said.
Of a sudden, Maia was seized with a desperate need to see proof—and, as if he somehow knew, Csevet opened his eyes. Maia was at his side in an instant, perching on the wooden stool next to the bed, unsure of where to look or what to do. He was vaguely aware that his nohecharei had entered the room behind him, but at this moment he only had eyes for Csevet.
Csevet smiled faintly. “Serenity. Are you well?”
“Are we—No! We mean, yes, we are well, but—” Maia could not seem to stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “We should be asking you. Are you well, Csevet?”
“We are, Serenity. That is—” Csevet shifted slightly, grimacing, “—we will be.” He blinked slowly once, then again, obviously feeling the effects of the drug he had been given.
Maia struggled to work out what he wanted to say, his thoughts scattering like the herbs from the ritual bowl. “We wished to—that is—we appreciate your sacrifice,” he finally settled on, hiding a wince at how inadequate it seemed. “You have done a great service for our country, and—”
He broke off as Csevet frowned. “Not for the country,” he murmured, his voice starting to slur slightly. He reached toward Maia’s hand. “You should not have had to do it, Serenity. We hoped…”
“Yes," said Maia lightly. “We have been informed of your... conspiracy against your Emperor.” He traded grins with Csevet, whose pale cheeks flushed with colour.
“It wasn’t fair. And we—I wanted to save you. From the need to choose…” His eyes drifted closed, breathing slowing as sleep claimed him.
Maia hesitated for a moment, uncertain, then reached out to take Csevet’s hand. He wanted to ask questions, to understand—All will be well, Serenity; I wanted to save you—but for now, he would wait while Csevet slept.