Chapter Text
Maia noticed the soft break of winter from within his bedchamber, and the usual chill he got while being fussed over and readied for the day was tamped down to the slightest shiver. He wondered if the servants dreaded this time of year, since their proximity to the kitchen would compound with the impending heat of the upcoming months. He made a mental note to ask a bit later in the season, since asking around would surely be met with confusion. He was likely overworrying himself anyway. He was an emperor, but not a God, and he could not very well be made responsible for the weather. He had suffered the colder months well enough, and the servants surely had ways of stifling the heat. Plus, to do anything about it would mean investigating the ages-old configuration of air channels and chimneys that swapped out and circulated the warmer air with cooler air, and– as with most things– Maia felt himself wholly unprepared to take on that task. In any case, he was getting ahead of himself, since the modest shift in temperature hadn’t even finished melting the lingering piles of snow.
Nevertheless, there was a freshness in the air that renewed Maia’s energy. He finished his breakfast quickly, feeling, for once, genuinely motivated to go about his duties for the day rather than rushed. His mind was clear, and he felt prepared for whatever onslaught of meetings and correspondences Csevet had prepared for him. He was almost disappointed when Csevet entered the Tortoise room with a fairly light stack of envelopes. Although, it was still a stack nonetheless. Perhaps he could take his time with them today, and have Csevet instruct him on one of the million intricacies of letter-writing that Maia had yet to grasp. He’d have to figure out how to ask without sounding like he was an underperforming school-child, not that that had stopped him before.
They passed through the first set of letters easily. Csevet, for his part, also embodied the lightness in the air, although Maia couldn’t pin down how. Except under especially rare circumstances, Csevet was perfectly composed, and he weathered the surges of his workload with unshakable grace. Maybe it was the timbre of his voice or the flourish of his hands that captured his positive mood. It also helped that he was dressed in a lush green ensemble that, with his water-blue eyes, gave the general impression of a fresh spring rain.
Caught up in his musings, Maia imagined he could actually hear a light breeze through the leaves of a papery birch. He realized shortly it was instead a substantial amount of letters falling to the floor.
“Csevet, what-“
Maia made a slight movement to go after the fan of papers at his and Csevet’s feet before remembering that emperors did not go crawling on their knees to pick up papers. He wasn’t even sure that he could with the heavy robes layered over his knees. Maia looked up helplessly at Csevet, wondering, for Csevet’s sake rather than his own, what was holding him off from getting everything back in order.
Maia froze when he saw Csevet’s face. The breezy feeling of the room was gone so suddenly that Maia wondered whether it was ever there in the first place. It was like a fleeting dream, and he could hardly even imagine it now, not with Csevet’s face twisted like a dry desert shrub. Maia knew all manner of small expressions from Csevet, and most of them were under heavy regulation by the decorum of court. This one was shockingly candid, but not entirely unfamiliar.
Fear.
“Csevet, what’s going on?” Maia’s voice was thin, surely betraying his mounting concern.
Csevet was holding up a letter, the pale-white tips of his fingers fully ghosting where he gripped the page. In contrast to Maia, Csevet hardly spent any time rereading things, his mind neatly filing away the important bits of information on his first pass. Maia was disturbed to see his eyes scanning back and forth across the page.
“Csevet, who-“ Maia trailed off, realizing he already knew the answer, which lay in the heavy weight of the paper and the unmistakable seal. It was further confirmed by the fact that Maia knew of only one person who could have such an effect on Csevet. Maia swallowed. His voice fell nearly to a whisper. “Csevet, what did he say?”
In his short time as emperor, Maia had received a broad spectrum of reactions to things he said, but rarely was he ignored. Csevet especially made certain to respond fully to Maia’s questions, even the ones that Maia did not speak aloud. Now, with Csevet caught in a loop of reading and rereading, Maia couldn't figure out whether he was being ignored or whether his secretary had even heard him in the first place. His Nohecharai shifted uncomfortably at the door.
Maia reached out a hand. He didn’t know himself whether it was for the letter or for Csevet, but his intention was lost either way. The moment Maia’s finger made contact with Csevet’s hand he snapped back like Maia had burned him. The paper flapped so roughly that Maia was sure it would tear. Csevet stared at him wide-eyed, pleading, the fear childlike and unchecked across his expression. Maia realized Csevet was not here, in the room, but somewhere else. Somewhere darker and in the past.
And then Csevet returned to himself, swallowing.
“S- Serenity.” He eyed the paper in his hands and Maia’s half-outstretched arm. “Oh, I didn’t mean… forgive me, we didn’t mean… we shouldn’t have-“
Maia was the one who should apologize for startling him so, but his apologies generally made people uncomfortable. He could only soften his voice and hope the sentiment came across.
“What does it say, Csevet?”
Csevet set his eyes back on the letter, looking as if he would be ill. “It says…” His eyes drew back over the words again. He very likely had it memorized by now. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words, and finally landed on a single statement. “Our presence is requested at Eshoravee.”
“Our?” Maia questioned. Csevet had not used the plural, but none of Maia’s letters had asked specifically after Csevet before. It was unprecedented. “Why on Earth would you go to Eshoravee?”
Csevet hesitated. “It’s… not in so many words.”
“Let me see.” Maia’s voice had calmed, but only out of obstinance. He could not believe what Csevet was saying, simply because it didn’t make any sense to him. He could not fathom a scenario in which he would allow Csevet to return to Eshoravee.
He took the letter and began to read. He did not need to fathom the situation himself, because Tethimar already had. As he read, the calm dissipated like a cool morning fog into unforgiving afternoon heat. The writing was dense and inscrutable as always, but Maia understood just enough for his shoulders to stiffen with the fear that was gripping Csevet’s whole person.
“He’s punishing us.” Maia concluded.
“Yes, Serenity.” Csevet agreed. Instead of the letter, his fingers gripped each other, and he sat there fidgeting. The gesture made him look younger, and Maia guessed he wasn't aware he was doing it.
On the surface, the letter from Eshevis Tethimar offered aid. There was knowledge that the so-called “barbarian” enemy, the Nazhmorhathveras, had changed tack, and were traveling along the Athamara, poised to sack a weakly defended collection of villages on the way to Ashedro. It was not completely implausible, but for years the enemy had focused on reattaining the Anmur'theileian, and it made no sense to Maia why they should suddenly take the offensive, and with a partially unified front at that. He had been told plainly that they preferred to attack unsystematically and in small groups. There was no explanation behind the new development, and Maia would have to inquire about it later.
For the present, the situation was poor from the standpoint of the formal military, which had most recently been pushing deeper into the mountains to flush the Nazhmorhathveras eastward into the relatively exposed Evressai Steppes. It would take a considerable amount of time to reallocate sufficient forces to the threatened area along the Athamara. Tethimar’s proposed solution was both noble and efficient. On paper. He offered to organize a small operation with his own guard and the combat-inclined persons that comprised the western landowners. In so many words, he and his “hunting friends” would mitigate the threat.
The only problem, as described by Tethimar, was one of authority. By his reasoning, his modest standing in court did not “grant him the appropriate grounds on which to compel non-enlisted persons to put neither their lives nor their property in the way of harm.” This, as Maia read it, was a thinly-veiled complaint at his denial of the marriage with Vedero, which would have elevated his standing at court. The veil was nearly entirely discarded with the next line, which expressed that solidifying his status in court more formally would afford him a sufficient level of importance to mobilize the small force on his own accord. In short, he demanded a marriage contract.
Maia felt like a rabbit with a fox snarling and scratching outside his den. He could not revoke his decision in regards to Vedero’s marriage, especially now that he was more familiar with Thethimar’s character. Apart from making him look weak and manipulable, it would betray nearly everything he had stood for thus far as an emperor. A marriage contract was simply not an option.
The alternative, then, as explained by Tethimar, was to ensure that he had sufficient authority by demonstrating that he had the emperor’s backing when reaching out to the western landowners. He assured Maia that the emperor’s personal support went very far to shore up the landowners’ dedication to the safety and security of the realm, a sentiment which Maia highly doubted. Of course, Tethimar would certainly not compel the emperor to make the trip himself, as there would be much traveling quickly from place to place. Maia wondered bitterly if Tethimar knew that he had never learned to ride a horse. Rather then request the emperor in person, Tethimar suggested that Maia could surely spare his secretary to relay his sentiments surrounding this most pressing matter. His secretary could also be trusted with the task of composing written agreements with the landowners to fairly compensate their involvement.
It was ridiculous. A problem spun wholly out of thin air and thrust up on his lap like a screaming, colicky newborn. Maia was frustrated by the entire premise. He scowled at the piece of paper in his hands. “He has the authority.” Maia argued. “He’s lying to us. He’s fully capable of organizing the landowners if he wishes, and with their proclivity for violence, they might even mobilize themselves if they were informed of the situation. Let him act on his own accord, he has no need for influence from a wife or a trifling stamp of approval from us.”
“But he won’t.” Csevet bit back. Maia was startled by the sharpness of his words. “He won’t lift a finger unless he has something to gain. His logic matters not.”
Csevet’s voice had the cold acceptance of a condemned man. He was still too proper to fall into patronage, but there was a rare impatience behind his words. He was guiding Maia to the conclusion he had reached minutes ago, like a stable hand leading an unruly mule in from pasture.
“He’s willing to let the villages be slaughtered.” Maia stated, bereft of the incredulity he felt the statement deserved.
“Yes, Serenity. He is a decorated officer but is not in force at present. He is under no obligation to provide any support outside of Eshovaree. It is a… dishonorable tactic, but callousness is often a strategic boon in negotiations.”
“Negotiations?” Maia hated arguing with Csevet. It turned him into a tantruming child. “I’m not negotiating with people’s lives-”
“But he is, Serenity.” A flash of anger. Maia did not know if it was directed at Dach’osmen Tethimar or himself. Or both. Csevet's brow was furrowed, his jaw tight. “He is negotiating with people’s lives, and therefore you are.”
Maia stared at Csevet, who stared back, unwavering. He had never known Csevet to be so forceful, so combative, especially not with Maia. Other men liked to bite and snarl for entertainment, but this side of Csevet was the product of fear. Of desperation. Of being backed into a corner. The black pools of his pupils swallowed up the watery irises around them, and Maia could see how terribly he was not himself. Maia caved, dropping his eyes to the floor. It was torturous of him to swim in denial and force Csevet to explain everything to him.
Maia tilted his head downward and rested it in his hands, fingers digging at his temples. He knew it was torturous, but even if Maia accepted Csevet's conclusion as correct, he still did not fully understand the situation. And who else could he ask besides Csevet? Maia was dismayed by his own neediness, and his voice came out small and peading. “Why must it be you, Csevet? Would not someone else from the miltary make more sense?”
Maia felt dreadful for asking. He also felt wretchedly unfair, offering up some unsuspecting third party just because he couldn’t bear to imagine the Alcethmeret in Csevet’s absence.
“It’s an ultimatum, Serenity.” Csevet pressed his lips together and eyed Maia, gauging his understanding. He apparently decided it was insufficient and continued explaining. “He’s demanding either your sister's marriage or our presence. Or, that you do nothing and sacrifice the villages to a preventable misfortune. It’s entirely likely that he skirts the entire plan should either of his conditions be altered, and he can do so without losing face. He could easily argue that he underestimated the Nazhmorhathveras’s military might or speed and allow the villages to be slaughtered.” Csevet was speaking faster now, building up steam, and Maia was painfully reminded that he had spent years in the service of a tirading Chavar, though Csevet's speech was nowhere near as inflated. “Furthermore, the landowners are not interested in being ordered around by the military. They desire favors, specifically favors the emperor can grant. Not military medals or honors. Involving any military official in this would appear as if you’re mandating civilian involvement in military affairs, which upsets the entire structure of the system. People would riot, Serenity, and you can be sure Eshevis Thethimar would be the one providing them the pitchforks and torches.”
Csevet breathed hard. A deep mauve had settled into his cheeks as he spoke. He tried to salvage the fraying edges of his composure. “We apologize, Serenity, for we did not mean-”
Maia waved a hand to expel the platitude. He sat back in his chair and felt he was sinking to the bottom of the Chadevan Sea. Csevet was completely and thoroughly correct, as always, about Tethimar’s intentions and about Maia’s priorities. Maia would not marry off his sister to a monster. He would also not let innocent lives be sacrificed if he could prevent it. The only option remaining was Csevet. He was backed into a corner, outmanipulated and outfoxed. Shame sat dryly in his mouth like a ministerial wafer.
“We need to prepare,” Csevet stated, moving to end the conversation with all of the secretarial authority he could muster.
“Wait-” Maia put his hand up before Csevet could rise from his chair. His secretary reluctantly settled back onto the seat.
Maia made eye contact with Csevet for a moment, but did not have the constitution to hold his gaze. “I understand why you must go, but... what does... why does he demand you?”
The question came out as a whisper, because he felt guilty for asking it. As with most questions directed at Csevet, Maia felt he should already know the answer.
Csevet pressed his hands against the tops of his thighs, tension building in his shoulders and arms. His expression threatened to decompose. The corners of his mouth– plastered into a sharp, frustrated line– cracked and flinched downward. “Please, Serenity, we do not wish to explain-”
“Csevet.”
His secretary stared at him unhappily, recognizing the demand in Maia’s voice, and Maia felt all the worse for it. He was already useless in this situation, and now he was also a bully.
Csevet furrowed his brow and began mildly, carefully. “It is partially a matter of trust. For others to believe the emperor’s word was being represented faithfully, he needed to pick someone sufficiently close to you.” Maia knew this explanation was a feint. It only made sense under Tethimar’s premise that the western landowners did indeed require reassurance, which both Csevet and Maia knew they did not. However, Maia was not willing to be any more forceful than he already was, so he simply nodded and waited for Csevet to continue.
“It is also a matter of experience. I’ve written several such agreements with landowners and he knows I’ve traveled to Eshovaree-“
“You believe he remembers you?” Maia interrupted.
Csevet's mouth twisted and breathed out heavily before he spoke. “We do. We believe he did not, initially. He can’t be bothered to pay much attention to any of his servants, much less other people’s servants.” Csevet’s eyes wandered to a corner of the room, and he was momentarily thoughtful. “I caught him staring at me during the Winternight festivities. It is likely that seeing me up close jogged his memory. Or perhaps that my coldness toward him made him suspicious of me, and then he put the pieces together. I tried to be as impartial as I could toward him, but I can be… reactive, at times. Whatever it was, I believe it has connected the past and present for him, yes.”
“But that was nearly a decade ago. Is he really so vengeful?”
Csevet was not prone to shrugging, and the gesture was awkward and unpracticed in his shoulders. “The scars remain, Serenity. It’s also possible that he believes I was involved with the denial of his marriage contract, simply because of proximity.”
Maia nodded thoughtfully, wishing he had a better memory for subtle glances and brief interactions. Csevet surprised him by offering to speak again.
“Serenity, if we may be wholly transparent,” Csevet paused, possibly to see if Maia would stop him from overstepping, which Maia did not do. “We must impress upon you that this situation is not about us. Tethimar is a vicious man, needlessly so, but he is also strategic when necessary. We are a secretary with little to offer him in the way of power. Any ill fortune that befalls us is a happy bonus for him, but vengeance toward us is not his purpose.”
Maia flinched at the words “ill fortune.” Instinctively, he wanted to assure Csevet that he would come to no harm, but neither of them would believe that to be true.
“Serenity, this is about you.” Csevet’s eyes were painfully earnest. He leaned forward in his seat. “You must understand. We are no more than a pawn in all this.”
“A pawn?” Maia shook his head defiantly. “Csevet, we don’t consider you to be a pawn-”
“That’s precisely the issue, Serenity.” Csevet raised his voice and exasperation threaded through it. His fists gripped around the swatch of moss-green fabric at his thighs. He looked up, and Maia was shocked to see that his eyes were glassy with frustrated tears. “It is no secret how you treat your servants.”
If Maia were standing, the smack of blame would have brought him to his knees. “Csevet, we only mean to treat you all as people; it’s not in our nature to go about shouting orders like you’re an unruly pack of dogs-”
“And we do not resent it, Serenity.” Csevet swiped at his face miserably. “We do not resent it.” Maia wanted to be convinced by him, but Csevet sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “We have… appreciated our place...”
Csevet was seized by the sudden sentimentality of his words, and he took a few uneven breaths, eyes closed, waiting for the statement to dissipate into the air. Sentimentality was not a luxury either of them could afford.
He swallowed hard and regrouped, but it was a half-measured thing, and his voice wavered at the start. “Our point, is that emperors have reason to keep their distance from others, especially those without power. This tactic of Tethimar’s would be useless on emperors like your father, who would laugh at the very idea of threatening servants for political gain. It is a pompous and cruel way to rule, to be sure, but an emperor without attachments has more freedom to rule judiciously. They rule without so many… vulnerabilities.”
Csevet paused, looking to see whether Maia was going to challenge him for alluding to himself so flippantly. Maia did not. Cala had not joined in the conversation, but nevertheless his words screamed through Maia’s head. We cannot be your friend. Maia had thought he was being cruel and unfair. What a child he was. A foolish, naive child. Cala had not been delivering a arbitrary custom or principle for the sake of decorum. He had delivered a warning. A warning which Maia ignored.
Csevet finished his point. “Thethimar is doing this because of the way you conduct yourself as an emperor. He knows this will affect you.”
Maia stared at him, stunned. There was no fault in his explanation. Maia had made a grave oversight, and Csevet was the one who would shoulder the consequences. Functionally, Maia would be inconvenienced by the change in staff, but ultimately his reign would proceed as it had before. It was Csevet who was being wholly uprooted and lain in front of the tiller, placed at the whims of a man who had already tried to murder him.
Maia dropped his gaze to the floor. He reached out a hand and tightened it around Csevet’s wrist. This time, Csevet did not jump. “Csevet-“ Maia put forth every effort to keep himself from breaking down. His voice was quiet, only there enough for Csevet’s ears. “I am, most truly sorry.”
His apology was met with the silence it deserved. His words could not spare Csevet now.
Maia dropped his hand. There was nothing else to say. He could make no promises, give no assurances. He could only leave his useless, pitiful apology hanging in the air like a dry leaf ready to fall from a branch.
Csevet, too, had nothing left to say, which he indicated by standing up from his chair. He dutifully collected the scattered papers off the floor and tucked them under his arm. “We beg pardon, Serenity, but we have much to prepare before we depart.”
Csevet bowed, and then he was gone.