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They laid Aubrey to rest under cover of darkness, in a remote part of the pine forest; the night was still and quiet, the proceedings unadorned. It was the most awkward funeral January had ever been to—then again, he supposed that most traitors didn’t typically get funerals; especially not after an investigation that took nearly four years.
River cradled the unmarked ceramic urn close to their chest, scanning the faces of the people in attendance—Mx. Ren, Mx. Francis, Mx. Martinez, and a few members of the security team. “Nobody?” they asked quietly; no answer came.
They sighed, breath pluming white in the frigid air. “Alright. Aubrey Gale was a great many things. They were so smart—people seem to forget that. And…I know it never seemed like it, but they sought to understand other people, in everything they did—they once told me that they thought politics was ‘the dumbest thing in the world,’ and that the Senate ought to just go out drinking together once a month. ‘All our problems would be gone.’” A smile broke the mask of their face, sad and fleeting. “They were a lot kinder than anyone ever gave them credit for.”
“They made really good jiaozi,” Mx. Ren offered, almost cautiously.
River laughed. “Yes. Yes, they did.”
Slowly, River uncapped the urn that held what was left of Aubrey Gale. The Zhianbu[1] had “done them the service” of cremating the body—mailed the ashes to Jade Hill without so much as a polite notification. River was the one who had found it, in the document box that was collated for the Consul—they were upset, but January thought it was a blessing. House Gale would be allowed to bury Aubrey without scrutiny, without being lambasted by the press for loyalty to a traitor.[3] When it was overturned, the ashes drifted to the earth like snow.
January didn’t know how long they stood there under the shade of the pines. It was almost like keeping a vigil—standing in their loose circle, staring down at Aubrey’s cremated remains, January wanted nothing more than to take River’s hand. He wasn’t sure if it would be welcome.
Finally, Mx. Martinez broke the silence—they bowed to River, low and almost reverent. “Ought to get back; don’t trust the rookies on night shift.”
River nodded. “Probably for the best. Thank you, Mx. Martinez.”
The security officers trooped towards the house. Mx. Francis and Mx. Ren followed, making their excuses—January and River were left alone in the forest.
A breeze whistled through the pines; the ashes stirred. River’s gaze hadn’t left them even once.
January did reach out and touch them then—on their scapula, gentle and fleeting. He didn’t ask if they were alright; he feared they would take it wrong. “Hey.” he said instead. “Look, I know you’re impervious to the cold or whatever, but I’m freezing. Come inside?” Once the pair were safely within the walls of Songshu, January would make them some tea; they’d go over tomorrow’s agenda together. It would be alright. The pair were a team, after all.
They looked up, almost surprised, and nodded their assent. As seemed to be the theme of the night, they walked back in silence. The night was cloudy, but the sky was visible through the gaps; the stars glittered like sequins, spilled over black velvet.
It began to snow when the pair were nearly back to the house; they had reached the part of the forest where the clear-cutting had started during the energy crisis. January could see the upturned polar bear tree, the one no one was really sure what to do with. On its side like that, the roots seemed as though they were grasping for the sky, for the flakes of ice whirling to earth.
River saw it, too; they stopped all of a sudden, staring at January with nothing in their eyes so much as disquiet. The snow carded its fingers through their unbound hair, white against black. January sighed, remembering the look in their eyes as they watched the last of Aubrey Gale drift to the ground of their ancestral home. “Look—I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s—” River shook their head. “They were my sibling. I loved them. They also…” They paused, as though searching for the words. “Look, some people make death the only way to stop them.”
Despite himself, January laughed. “Wonderful. We’ll put that on your next campaign poster. Gale for Consul: Some People Need Killing.”
River’s expression crumpled, and a bolt of of fear went through January’s heart. “River. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”
“You know you’re not beholden to me any longer.” River cut January off. They seemed distant, mind somewhere else entirely—January couldn’t help but wonder where.
“What?” inquired January, not really comprehending.
Over the course of five years of marriage, January had almost memorised River. It was just something he did when he loved someone, like how one could commit a poem to memory without meaning to; he could always tell when they found something amusing during meetings, because the smile always showed at the corners of their eyes. It wasn’t visible to anyone else, but he could tell now that River was clenching their jaw to keep from crying.
“It’s over. I’ve won the election, you’ve been exonerated; you can go, if you’d like.” Their voice shook, nearly imperceptibly. “Five years of worthy service—you’ll be compensated accordingly.”
“River.” January started, heartbroken; clearly he’d misjudged the situation.
“I can get you set up with a senatorial campaign, if you’d like—or, I heard some billionaire’s trying to get a ballet company off the ground. I’ll put you in contact.” They wouldn’t look at January. “Whatever you need.”
“River. River, what—?” January steeled himself; this was going to hurt. “River, I thought…” I thought we were past this. I thought you loved me, too.
They shook their head. “I can’t do that to you. You should go—have a career, something that doesn’t involve me.”
January scowled. “Well, what if I don’t want to?”
“That’s ridiculous” River wasn’t aggressive about it; if anything, they were the nearest to weeping that January had ever seen them. “Whyever—”
“Because I…” January took a deep breath. “Because I love you.”
River scoffed. “You oughtn’t to. I was terrible when you met me—a raging fascist, determined to force everyone into naturalisation. No small wonder you were scared of me.”
It wasn’t true. It just wasn’t. January had seen the House’s financial records, was quite possibly the only other person living who knew the truth about what had come to pass that day in the pine forest; he knew River. They wouldn’t have made the decisions they had if it wasn’t completely necessary; even if they were bad fucking decisions. It was Mars, after all; everything was freezing all the time, and there was no water.
Abruptly, when January looked at River, he could see all the scars and weathering that had come from a life as a scion of one of the Great Houses; could see all the bits of themself that they had been forced to chip away. Suddenly, he found himself terribly sad for them.
“Look—it’s not that simple.” Slowly, January took River’s hand in both of his own. “It’s not an excuse, but I think you did what you had to do. You effectively built your code of ethics from scratch—all things considered, I think you did decently well. People have done worse things to save their House; you have to work with the tools you’re given.”
River was, at the very least, making eye contact now; one black brow was raised sceptically.
“Besides,” January continued, hoping, praying, “You can’t change the past. All you can do is move forward, and learn—and, if I may, I think you’re doing a pretty good job at that.”
River squeezed his hand. “You tried your best, January. The immigration reforms, the Earthstrong rights legislation—it’s all you. You ought to do that somewhere where you won’t perpetually have the stain of being Consul-Consort Stirling on your reputation.”
“Yes, and would you like to know who I spoke to to get those reforms off the ground? Senator Shang and Senator Huang—people whom we once considered our enemies. You called Huang a spineless imperialist on the Senate floor once.” January added fondly.
A smile had worked its way onto River’s face. “Well, they were being a spineless imperialist. If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck.”
January couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Indeed. My point is, politics is messy—you know that. Sometimes you have to go backwards to end up further along from where you started.”
“Indeed.” River’s voice still wavered; suddenly, they wrenched their eyes from the ground and locked them onto January’s own. “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” January breathed. He would have ripped his heart out of his chest, then and there, if it meant River would stay. “Anything.”
It was their turn to squeeze January’s hand, now. “Promise me this isn’t out of fear. Promise me you believe me when I say I’d never hurt you.”
“River.” January said gently. “I could never be afraid of you—never again.”
River’s slow smile broke onto their face like a sunrise; January could feel the bridge between them, all lit up. There was something here, he knew. They had something wonderful—something as rare and beautiful as snow on Mars.
1The acronym for the Colonial Security Ministry.[2]
2殖民地的安全部.
3January didn’t know this at the time, but it had been Nikola Liu, the Speaker of the House, who’d advocated for giving Aubrey’s body back like that.
“It was that or nothing,” they confessed to January ten years on, tipsy and morose at a state dinner; they had chivvied him into the library at Jade Hill. “I pulled some strings with the Zhianbu—wanted River to be able to bury their Apollo.” They didn’t have to say what they really meant, the implication running under it like mammoth subvocalizations; I wanted them to be able to bury their Apollo because I didn’t get to bury mine.