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Chapter Text

His Radiancy’s been casting great magics all week – which means Cliopher’s entrusted with most other tasks, and has seen him little. He’s relieved to enter the Imperial study today and find his lord pacing in an ambling way, clearly relaxed.

After being waved up from his obeisance, Cliopher sits. “You are finished with the earthquakes, my lord?”

Straightening the imperial desk across the room, Conju shoots Cliopher a scolding look. Yes, Cliopher isn’t supposed to speak first in the Presence. But it’s not like his lord minds.

His Radiancy smiles at Cliopher. “Yes, the region is settled now. And – I do not know how to describe it, precisely – something felt very settled on Zunidh when I was done. Like clicking a lock into place, or satisfactorily aligning parts of a puzzle… I have a sense that there will not be any such disasters for some time.”

Cliopher looks up to meet his gaze, surprised and pleased. “Do you think some of the damage from the Fall was repaired, then?”

His Radiancy hums, looking somewhere through Cliopher. Magic-null as he is, his teeth still vibrate with a sudden shiver under those gold eyes. “Perhaps. I hope so; I do not think Zunidh will ever be fully as it was before the Fall, but I think this was a turning point.” Finally his lord returns to his pacing, still in good humor. “What is on the agenda today, my dear secretary?”

But Cliopher can’t answer.

The removal of his lord’s gaze tears away all light – everything except a few dazzling glimmers blooming and fading in front of his eyes, like sunlight on a lake, candles in the darkness. Cliopher stares – he knows he does. His eyes are open. He blinks to check, and blinks again, but -

“Sayo Mdang?”

“The – there is a letter on the protesting miners in Amboloyo,” Cliopher fumbles. He pauses again, looking down, and feels for his report. He puts it aside. His fingers curve over the familiar letter. It’s creased from his review this morning. “There’s been a protest at one of the larger copper-mines, and complaints that Prince Rufus was dismissive of several large accidents.”

A pause. When nothing else comes his lord prompts, “Read the letter for us.”

Right. Right.

Cliopher blinks desperately. Nothing changes.

“Is there a problem, Sayo Mdang?”

Cliopher’s hand trembles.

He doesn’t want to say it. This is more than a moment’s disorientation – he must explain himself.

But he knows how much his lord has feared this. How he prefers to look people in the eyes, now that he can, even though it’s so rare that anyone tries – anyone dares -

Cliopher, usually, is the only one to do it. And this is why. “I am sorry, my lord,” he says softly. “I cannot.”

His lord remains pleasantly mild. “I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot - “ Cliopher’s voice wavers, just a little. He takes a breath. He is not going to panic. It might be temporary. “I am – I seem to be unable to see it. At the moment.”

Silence. A swish of fabric, and footsteps. “Are you telling me you are blind, Sayo Mdang?” asks his lord urgently.

“I can see some light,” Cliopher admits. Though ‘light’ isn’t the correct word. Just floating bits of color, appearing and vanishing. It dizzies him.

Harsh breathing. Another swirl of fabric. “Get Domina Audry, immediately.” A thump of spears signals the acknowledgment of the guard; the door is too well-oiled for Cliopher to hear it open.

He hears steps – stilted, hesitant, from the same direction. Like his lord is shuffling, which can’t be right. The Lord of Rising Stars never behaves except with perfect composure. Softly his Radiancy prods, “Conju?”

“Yes, my lord.” Swifter steps. Conju’s voice appears by Cliopher’s side. “Cliopher, the doctor will want to examine you – let’s get somewhere more convenient for her. Take my arm.”

Cliopher does; he leaves his writing-kit on his desk and feels a pang of anxiety for it while he follows. Conju moves slowly and carefully, murmuring a warning when they pass one door, then another.

It’s fortunate the Imperial Apartments are designed so that everything is huge; Cliopher doesn’t really need to fear running into anything. Conju eventually guides him to a seat; Cliopher realizes he has no idea where they are within the labyrinthine suites.

When he asks Conju explains, “It’s a smaller study; no one uses it. No windows; Domina Audry will want to check how your eyes respond to light, I’m sure.”

“And this may take awhile,” says his Radiancy. Cliopher jolts; he didn’t realize his lord followed them.

Conju asks if he’s comfortable, or in any pain. “No – well – no,” says Cliopher.

“You do not seem very certain.”

“I have a headache – I usually have a headache,” says Cliopher ruefully.

His Radiancy asks, “How often is usually?” just as they hear more footsteps.

“Domina Audry, my lord,” announces one of the guards. Oginu, was it? Cliopher wishes they’d stayed in the study. He doesn’t like the fact he can’t picture where everyone stands, doesn’t know the shape of the room he’s in.

His Radiancy explains the situation, including – in almost accusing tones – Cliopher’s comment about his headaches. “Interesting. Have you noticed anything odd about your vision recently, Sayo Mdang? Even something very minor. Small floating flecks or black spots, blurriness, eye-strain, anything like that.”

“This is almost certainly magic,” interrupts his Radiancy.

“Quite likely,” says Domina Audry, mild. “But I would prefer to be thorough, Glorious One. If there is a physical cause, it must be addressed immediately; magic can wait.”

There are no further objections, so Cliopher dutifully runs down a list of questions with her. His eyes do feel strained, sometimes, but that’s normal, especially when he’s up late reading or writing (further questioning leads Cliopher to confessing he’s up past midnight four or five times a week; Cliopher hears fabric rustling from the direction of his Radiancy but no one comments.) He hasn’t noticed any blurriness, but sometimes he sees black spots if he rises too fast – that’s not unusual if he hasn’t eaten though. (“Goodness, Cliopher,” Conju mutters in his ear.) And of course he has the headaches.

When Domina Audry inquires, he explains, “They only get bad perhaps once or twice a week.”

“And the rest of the week?” she persists. “How often do you have them?”

Cliopher frowns, uncertain how to phrase it. “I usually don’t have headaches for a few hours out of a week,” he decides. “Sometimes they go away a few hours before midnight. But I always have one again when I wake.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention that, Sayo Mdang?”

“They’re not severe,” he insists. Conju’s holding tightly to his arm.

Domina Audry sighs. “And how do you feel now? Physically.”

Cliopher frowns. “I don’t have a headache anymore,” he realizes, with faint surprise. After considering he adds, “A bit light-headed,” although honestly that might just be the sheer lack of pain.

“Glorious One, do you see any sign of the taboos on him?” Domina Audry asks.

“I cannot. And I do not much care to ask the Ouranatha.”

Fortunately, or perhaps just showing good sense, Domina Audry doesn’t ask why.

She runs Cliopher through a few basic tests – she tests his pupils and listens to his heart, explaining that certain blockages can interfere with vision. At one point she asks him to guess how many fingers she’s raising – “Sometimes people think they cannot see, but on an unconscious level continue to retain information,” she explains, briefly diverting Cliopher into wondering how that works. She asks him to sit still and examines him through spells.

But, ultimately, “I cannot say if this if caused by magic or illness, Sayo Mdang. Your lack of pain could indicate some physical strain that has suddenly snapped; it could also indicate that magic has been wearing on you for years, and just now broke through.” They all know what magic she means. “Right now I can only advise that you rest and see if anything changes. I would suggest not straining your eyes, just in case. Stay away from intense lights for now. It sounds like you need to catch up on sleep regardless.”

“Is that it?”

“I would advise staying with someone for at least a day or two; if this is caused by a stroke I can’t detect, or something similar, there could be further complications.”

“He’ll stay with me,” says Conju flatly. Cliopher doesn’t argue.

“You have no conclusions, Domina?” asks his Radiancy.

A pause. People don’t like admitting ignorance to the Sun-on-Earth, so Cliopher can’t blame her for needing a moment. “There are many possible reasons, my lord. But most causes of sudden vision loss would only affect a single eye; others would probably be accompanied by certain signs… It’s possible his vision will return soon. If this is magical…” she trails off.

They all know it’s probably magical.

“I will research the matter,” says his Radiancy, in a distant, emotionless voice. “Conju, you are excused for the day; please remain with Sayo Mdang. We will – determine how to proceed once his condition is more clear.”

Fortunately Cliopher doesn’t need to do much talking once they reach Conju’s apartments. He promises to send a page alerting Saya Kalikiri to Cliopher’s sudden absence. Then he firmly insists Cliopher sleep. “I’ll stay nearby and get some sewing done, just in case – well, just in case – and it sounds like you could use the rest. Midnight, Cliopher, honestly.”

So Cliopher rests in a darkness that probably only exists in his head, listening to the faint sounds of Conju pulling needles through fabric. We will determine how to proceed, his lord said…

Secretaries can’t be blind. Cliopher closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Cliopher’s still blind when he wakens hours later.

“You clearly needed that,” Conju mutters. “Although I do have nice guest-beds. You need new furniture, Cliopher, your apartments are ridiculous.”

Cliopher lets Conju ramble as they eat lunch. Conju’s talking a lot more than usual – probably because Cliopher isn’t. For once he doesn’t know what to say.

Conju’s cook has considerately made a selection of stuffed bite-sized pastries, so at least he doesn’t need to worry about looking like a fool over his food. The cup is only half-full, which confuses him a moment, but also makes sense.

Cliopher doesn’t like this, the waiting. He wants answers. Usually Cliopher is someone who would go to find answers, but he’s not sure where to begin.

He needs Conju’s assistance to locate the washroom, and politely refuses any further aid.

When he’s done Conju offers to read to him. They don’t want to wander the halls and cause gossip, after all. “And one of my old boyfriends thought I’d enjoy a book on the provinces of Colhélhé, if that would interest you,” Conju snorts. “I’ve never opened the thing.”

Cliopher perks up. “I don’t know much about Colhélhé.”

“I was mostly joking.” But Conju fetches it and they settle down on the couch anyway.

It’s not a bad way to spend an evening, really. They stop at the end of each chapter so Conju can mutter incredulously over some of the odder details about Colhélhé, and also stop a few times in-between, so Cliopher can insult the author’s overt biases, of which there are many.

Conju eventually insists on stopping for tea, and encourages Cliopher to rest again. “I don’t care if you’re not tired,” he says; Cliopher is, in fact, tired. “There’s something wrong and we’d best treat this like any sickness.”

Cliopher doesn’t protest. Maybe this time, he thinks, he’ll wake and open his eyes and everything will be fine.

Of course, he wakes before dinner and everything is still black.

“I didn’t realize there are secret tunnels,” says Cliopher the next morning, a little baffled by Rhodin’s plan.

There are no tunnels directly to the Imperial Apartments (“It'd be a huge security risk,” Rhodin says) but there’s a network that breaks off just down the hall, in what is nominally a storage-room, and should allow Cliopher to bypass the main routes.

Not that Conju lives far from his Radiancy’s apartments; but they want to limit the amount of people who know about this. At least until an official announcement goes out – which can’t happen until, well.

Until they know if it’s permanent.

In his head, though, Cliopher’s already drafting letters. The announcement, letters of appointment – a notification to his families – his work is all neatly organized, but he still should leave certain instructions for Kiri and Aioru –

And then he remembers he can’t write like this.

Well, Cliopher considers. He probably could, if he were careful. He has superb handwriting, and he’s well-accustomed to writing on a page even while reading from books or reports. Writing blind can’t be that different. But he’d need someone to check it, and he wouldn’t be able to review the results... It’s something to consider.

Cliopher trails along at Conju’s side while they, presumably, follow Ser Rhodin. He smells something like damp earth at one point – are the passages even tiled? Are they maintained? – and then a few minutes later a waft of fresh air. Stepping back into the halls, presumably.

“I’ll let you know when to bow,” Conju tells him. The outer guards pound their spears. A moment later Conju tugs him forward. He murmurs a faint, “Now,” and briefly loses contact.

Cliopher makes his obeisance and belatedly realizes he won’t see the gesture to rise; he gets up anyway. His lord never spares more than a second to raise him up.

“No improvement, then,” his Radiancy murmurs. He has a lovely voice, Cliopher thinks. Somehow as golden as his eyes.

“None, my lord,” says Conju sadly.

A long pause.

It’s strange that Cliopher can’t watch his lord’s expression. He will miss that more than anything.

Then his Radiancy says, “I am deeply sorry, Cliopher, for doing this to you.”

Cliopher stands stupefied a moment; Conju’s gasp is audible. The Lord of Rising Stars does not admit fault; he does not apologize, ever, for anything. To do so implies he is less than perfect.

He is not perfect, of course; but everyone is meant to ignore that.

“I am the one who consistently broke the taboos, my lord,” says Cliopher evenly. “It is no fault of yours.”

“But did I not allow it? And to do magic, while looking…” A pause. “We will need to decide how to proceed, then, and rearrange your duties.” Cliopher bows his head in agreement. “You will need assistants as head of the Private Offices...”

Cliopher startles. “You would want me to remain here, my lord?”

Conju’s grip is starting to hurt.

“Only if you desire it, Sayo Mdang; I certainly understand if you prefer to return to the Vangavaye-ve.”

Cliopher wishes he could see his lord’s eyes, try to discern what’s happening. But that’s what caused this mess, didn’t it? Presuming to pry into the face and thoughts of the Sun-on-Earth. “I do not want to leave, my lord, but I certainly cannot act as your secretary like this.”

“Perhaps,” his Radiancy agrees, still damnably blank. “But we have other secretaries who can hold pens, Sayo Mdang. You can still act as our advisor.”

“An advisor who cannot read?”

“I am certain we also employ some pages who could read the reports,” says his Radiancy. “For you and for me; those skills are common. Your political experience, and your years practicing negotiations, are not.” A pause. “As for your position as our Hands – it would be unwise to test the Taboos by coming too close to us, but you can still serve as a magical conduit in many of the rituals. That position, also, does not need to change.”

Cliopher thinks about this.

Under usual circumstances he would try to get information from his Radiancy’s expression, or look at Conju – or even try to glean something from the solemn guards. The omnipresent darkness betrays nothing. Scarlet spots bloom and disappear in drifting arcs, like a tree weeping leaves.

Finally Cliopher says, “I have worked to reform this government, my lord – I would never want to retain a position I cannot ably fulfill.”

“Then if that day comes, I swear I will tell you,” says his Radiancy. Cliopher can just imagine his intent golden eyes; those eyes were so beautiful. “Trust me to do so, Cliopher. We will meet with Saya Kalikiri to arrange the new redistribution of duties. For now, however, please rest.”

That’s an order, given in a tone brooking no argument; Cliopher bows from the room alone.

A guard escorts Cliopher to his own apartments.

Cliopher only realizes once he’s there that he’s not sure what to do with his time. Cliopher spends a lot of his ‘off’ hours readings or writing. Sometimes work, or work-adjacent things; sometimes for pleasure, or correspondence. But he can’t do any of that.

Occasionally he walks around the city – that would be a terrible idea, with no way of returning.

Finally Cliopher decides to clean. It’s not terribly easy, but he knows where everything is. It’s a bit interesting to re-learn the shape of his rooms by touch. Though it only occurs to him belatedly that it’s terribly difficult to keep track of what he already cleaned.

Once he’s run out of things to tidy he pulls out his oboe. He carves one of the reeds that’s playing flat by carefully feeling for thicker sections of wood. When he tests it after, the sound comes out pure and sweet. One small triumph. He amuses himself awhile by imagining a life as a wandering, blind bard. Except it sounds terribly complicated to wander anywhere blind, and anyway traveling musicians should have instruments that allow them to sing. So perhaps not.

He’s interrupted after the noon bell by sharp knocking. Someone sweeps through as soon as he opens the door, fabric brushing close enough to touch Cliopher’s arm.

“I cannot believe you,” Conju scolds. “I have a household for a reason, why didn’t you come back? Do you know how long it takes to walk here? Of course you do. What happened to discretion?”

“No one noticed.”

“No, they just saw you steered by an armed guard to your quarters, when you should be working; people will think you’re being dismissed, you fool.”

“Perhaps I should be.”

Conju makes an upset noise. He marches past Cliopher and sets something onto the table with a thunk. “Eat something while I yell at you.”

Conju never yells, really, but Cliopher obeys. He’s brought more thoughtful finger-foods, fruits and toasted bread and skewered meat. At some point Cliopher will have to start grappling with more complex dishes, which he consider gloomily. He always feels awkward eating in front of his Radiancy as it is, watching his lord maneuver those cunning gold-lacquered eating sticks.

“I heard that whole conversation with Himself,” says Conju. “So why are on earth are you talking about dismissal? You can’t want to leave?”

“Of course I don’t. But he…” It’s blasphemy to say it, but what is one more petty reason? “...he feels guilty, Conju. That’s the only reason he wants me to stay.”

“Do not be absurd; you aren’t accustomed to it. One of your secretaries is deaf, aren’t they?”

“That’s not the same.” Privately Cliopher’s once or twice been jealous of that ability to ignore squabbling courtiers. Though, granted, such a condition would preclude hearing his lord’s voice, or music… he cannot truly say it would be better.

“My point is that if this happened to anyone else – someone in your office – you’d certainly look to see if their position could be adjusted to accommodate. Surely you deserve the same consideration!”

“No one else in my office serves as his Radiancy’s secretary. That is my primary job, and I cannot do it without holding a pen.”

“Absurd, again! He can find an adequate scribe; he keeps you for your opinions. This is – it’s an awful thing, Cliopher. It’s a tragedy to imagine you, of all people, unable to write – but, goodness, you can still dictate your work. Plenty of nobles do it! I’m not entirely convinced Lord Adlavar is literate, actually.”

“I’m no noble. And I enjoy writing with my own hand.”

“And I’m sorry you won’t be able; it’s awful,” Conju repeats. “But you can’t let this stop you, Cliopher.”

Is this where you stop?

Cliopher takes a breath. He automatically ducks his head, then realizes the futility of the motion; it’s not like he was looking at Conju, anyway.

Cliopher thinks of Buru Tovo and realizes he’ll never be able to sail a ship again, or navigate by the stars -

That’s so overwhelming he shoves it aside.

Because Conju’s right. What’s the alternative? To just… go home to the Vangavaye-ve, in shame, and let his relatives fuss over him? With nothing to do, to contribute -

Cliopher’s not ready for that. He always assumed, in a vague sort of way, that one day he’d return and become the tana. He can still do that – Tovo is half-blind these days, and Lazo is lame - but he wants it to be on his own terms. This isn’t how the story goes; becoming tana is not a thing of loss and failure.

Can Cliopher still dance Aōteketētana blind? Maybe, maybe.

“Schedule a meeting with Saya Kalikiri,” Conju presses. “Talk to her about what this would entail. Don’t make any hasty choices, Cliopher. You are very good at your job. You can handle this.”

Alright. Cliopher nods slowly.

“Good! I will send a page to set something up.”

Chapter Text

The next week is a flurry of arrangements.

Cliopher has no idea how the court’s handling his sudden disappearance. It’s not unusual for him to leave, of course; but there’s always prior-planning, advanced notice. He goes on vacations back home; he goes on diplomatic missions to Ysthar or to settle squabbles in Nijan. He has rarely been ill, and except for once it only ever lasted a day.

Conju tells him not to worry about these things. “You’ve built your department with the goal of functioning in your absence,” he says. “Congratulations, it works.”

Kiri visits on the third day.

She’s been warned, of course, and greets him in a subdued way when she enters. Still in Conju’s apartments; Cliopher has been strictly warned from causing gossip by wandering the Palace again. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir,” she says. “I’ve written some letters – one of my aunts went blind a few years back, she has all sorts of interesting tools - “

“I would certainly appreciate any advice she may have,” Cliopher agrees. He should write – dictate – a few letters himself, now that she says it; he vaguely recalls a second or third cousin with bad cataracts in the Isolates. “You’ve spoken to Aioru already?”

“Yes. And, Sir, I think Aioru would do better replacing you as his secretary,” she says briskly, to Cliopher’s secret relief. He would never say so, as she’s technically capable and senior, but his Radiancy is always a bit uncomfortable around Kiri. “We all know he’ll be taking over things one day; it will be good experience for him.”

“Agreed.”

“Also, we don’t know yet how his Radiancy wants this to work,” she adds. “He kept emphasizing you’ll be an ‘advisor,’ and I think he means that as an official title of some sort?”

Cliopher blinks; that hadn’t occurred to him. “We don’t have such a title.”

“The Lord Emperor can invent all the titles he wants,” she points out. “And some of the previous emperors had councils of advisors instead of Hands.”

Cliopher dearly hopes she means ‘title’ like his ‘title’ of Hands of the Emperor. And not, say, a title like ‘Duke’ or ‘Lord.’

“...I’ll have to discuss that with him,” Cliopher says, and makes a mental-note. Because he can’t write one; his hand twitches, and finally he folds them under the table, fingers clenched together.

The Offices function at all hours, so they discuss potential ways of dividing shifts (depending on what his Radiancy wants from Cliopher.) They discuss how many assistants he’ll need, and who might suit. Cliopher initially wants just a single scribe, but Kiri scoffs.

“You should have had assistants before, Sir. And think for a minute; how many hours do you work? Do you expect an assistant to regularly take sixteen hour days, too? You’ve put workplace laws into place to avoid that – not that you ever follow them,” she emphasizes.

Oh. Yes; and that was before Cliopher needed every single report read aloud for his convenience. If he wants to work on some random idea at midnight, he’ll need an assistant then, too.

How – constraining.

“What would you suggest?” Cliopher asks, feeling tired already.

Kiri, it seems, has considered the question at length. She prefaces her answer by pointing out that it would be very very convenient if he would just keep normal, legal hours, but then outlines a list of positions she thinks would be sufficient to support him.

She wants him to have at least ten assistants.

“Six hour shifts,” she says, steamrolling briskly past his horror. “On rotation; I’m hoping you aren’t actually working until midnight regularly,” which Cliopher does, “but they can switch between day and night to get different experiences, standing by or doing research if you don’t need them. You’ll need at least two at a time, I think – between reading and writing, managing the appointment book, and running messages.”

Cliopher quells his initial manifold objections. “That would be eight,” he says, mild.

“I was thinking two more junior pages to act part-time as trainees. So they could jump in if someone left, or needed a day off. They can attend as additional messengers on busy days.”

Cliopher gives in to the impulse to sigh. “Kiri – I appreciate your, your thoroughness. But I cannot have ten assistants. It would be an outrageous waste of resources.”

“His Radiancy has already approved.”

What? “I don’t think his Radiancy has a very good sense of proportion,” Cliopher mutters to himself. There’s sixteen guards on-duty throughout the greater Imperial Apartments at any time, and four pages idling in the antechamber; not to mention the actual attendants. Two assistants around the clock probably sounds perfectly reasonable to the Lord of Rising Stars.

Kiri sputters audibly at his blasphemy. “Sir!” she reproaches.

“At that point it would be more efficient to just hire people to replace me, surely.”

“It would take a lot of people to replace you,” says Kiri darkly. “And I figured you’d want us to run the numbers; it’s much cheaper to keep you on, too. Even with a dozen or two dozen assistants.”

That… is actually possible. The assistants will mostly be fresh pages or secretaries, not paid high wages; between Cliopher’s experience and admittedly-illegal schedule it would take, optimistically, at least four or five highly-paid senior service members to fulfill the same duties. And even then they wouldn’t be experienced with the various councils, the provinces…

Kiri laughs at his muttered calculations. “Sir, I’m fairly certain we’d need an entire new department to replace you,” she says.

Cliopher ignores this exaggeration. “Alright, alright. Let us assume it is somehow more efficient to put ten new staff members in the budget.” Cliopher will debate that with his Radiancy later.

It’s frustrating that Cliopher can’t write. He keeps reaching toward his writing-kit when he has a spare thought; then he remembers. He hears the scritch-scratch of Kiri’s pen, and of course she’s taking notes. But it’s not the same.
Kiri turns to her next point. “You’ll need an easy way to send messages – although if there’s a page stationed nearby – where will your new quarters be?”

“I’m not sure yet. Somewhere in the Ystharian wing.”

“Oh, good. Plenty of messengers, I’m sure there will be one close by…”

The whole morning is occupied in minor logistics like this. They break for lunch – Kiri will need to return soon. But first they linger over how to phrase the announcement.

Cliopher prefers the idea of being vague, if only because it doesn’t do any harm to disconcert the Council of Princes when he shows up blind. He suggests just saying he’s stepping aside as secretary due to medical issues, and show up to Council anyway. “That’s so mean,” Kiri laughs, but they debate the merits for awhile before deciding it’s best to pre-empt any rumors that he’s dying or dismissed. Clear communication is always superior, Cliopher knows, but it would be fun to unnerve Prince Rufus. Just imagine if he could goad the prince into spewing colorful insults right before he realizes…

Cliopher must eventually put aside this fantasy of guilt-tripping the Prince of Amboloyo (however useful it might be for their arguments) and helps Kiri with a clearly-worded announcement. “We’ll need to wait to send it out,” he says. “We’ll need to get clarification from his Radiancy first, and the assistants - “

Ten assistants. Ten. “Maybe just one or two for now,” Cliopher adds, hopeful.

“I have sixteen candidates ready for interviews,” she says mercilessly. Papers rustle as she clears away her work. “And we’re still looking… I’ll give you a list in a few days.”

Except she doesn’t – because four days later, Cliopher blinks up at the beautiful ceiling of Conju’s guest-room and spends a few dazed, sleepy minutes admiring the pattern.

Lord Chancellor, he thinks idly, with a little disdain. Or possibly Chief Steward or Royal Vizier or First Seneschal – Cliopher doesn’t know why he’d be First Seneschal when there are no other seneschals, but it confirms his suspicion that all titles are meaningless.

His Radiancy gave Cliopher leave to pick, last night, and he still hasn’t, because he hates all of them. He doesn’t want to be ennobled.

Getting maimed shouldn’t be rewarded with a title, Cliopher thinks to himself. Especially when he was, technically, maimed due to blasphemy.

The ceilings are beautiful. Everything in Conju’s apartments are beautiful.

Cliopher sits up, flings himself out of bed, and promptly trips flailing through layers of silk sheets and blankets. Which he can see; they’re a lovely soft blue. He composes himself, inhaling deep breaths as he stares around the guest quarters.

They’re more barren than usual, he realizes; Conju usually keeps flowers on the tables of his guest-rooms, beautiful ornaments everywhere, a vase in the corner. This room is devoid of anything he could trip over or knock into by accident; his friend is always so quietly thoughtful. Cliopher dresses in a numb haze.

He touches the wall as he exits, some strange feeling passing through him. It’s almost automatic to grab the wall for guidance. It’s only been a week; Cliopher doesn’t need that anymore.

Conju’s already taking his breakfast in the morning room when Cliopher arrives. “Good morning,” says Conju immediately. He’s fast become careful about announcing himself and narrating his actions; his servants aren’t nearly as quick, and Cliopher’s rammed into more than one over the last few days who were too quiet and discreet.

“Good morning,” Cliopher returns brightly, too pleased to even know what to say.

Something about his tone must give him away. Conju lifts his head from his breakfast, blinks, and promptly jumps to his feet. “You’re looking at me!” he cries. “Are you – can you - “

“I can see,” says Cliopher, with a little bemusement. Conju beams. “Perfectly well.” And no headache, either.

“Oh, wonderful, that’s wonderful; he will be so pleased. We should call the doctor to check – I’ll send a note - “

Ah; so much for a quiet morning.

But Cliopher’s too cheerful to mind. He reaches for his writing kit, realizes he forgot it, and wanders back to his rooms.

For a second it seems like the lights flicker – he pauses. But they come back on less than a breath later, and he keeps walking.

Domina Audry can find nothing changed in Cliopher. Conju’s already left to get their lord ready for the day, so he heads up to the Imperial Apartments after a quick breakfast.

He arrives a few minutes before he’d usually arrive, but isn’t truly surprised to find Aioru waiting at his desk. The people of Kallarrahroo are lax about schedules; as a result Aioru paradoxically finds it helpful to get places early, to prevent embarrassment over forgetting.

Like Conju, he leaps to his feet. “Sir! Can you -”

“Yes; and you’ve cut your hair,” says Cliopher cheerfully.

Aioru looks like he wants to hug him – which Cliopher wouldn’t mind – but restrains himself. “That’s wonderful. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No; but Conju should have told him. I do regret taking you from your new work so soon, and all those meetings - “

“He seemed pretty intent on ennobling you,” Aioru warns. “He might still insist.”

“Eager to keep the job?” Cliopher teases. Aioru grins. “I must say I’m - “

He cuts off as the door at the back of the study opens, with the usual pounding of spears, to announce they’re now in the Presence. He and Aioru both drop into automatic obeisance; it takes longer than usual to receive the gesture to rise.

Cliopher catches a brief glimpse of golden eyes before his lord turns away. “Sayu Aioru, you are dismissed,” says his Radiancy curtly. Aioru bows – unsurprised – but throws Cliopher a faint frown as he goes. “We are gratified to find you recovered, Sayo Mdang. But we are surprised to see you here.”

“My lord?”

“If you are willing to continue your work…” his lord pauses. Cliopher waits, bemused, as his Radiancy paces several rounds in his usual triangular march. Then continues, like he never stopped, “You must dispense with these petty treasons, Sayo Mdang.”

Cliopher winces.

His lord’s always politely ignored Cliopher’s social gaffes, of which there are many. He deserves the rebuke; Cliopher drops into first degree apology. “Yes, my lord.”

His Radiancy waves him up far faster this time. “You do want to resume? You are certain?”

“Of course.”

His Radiancy nods once, still not looking at him. “We have a Council at the end of the week; I believe you may have missed an incident two days ago…”

His Radiancy is stiff and formal the entire day; he uses the royal plural in every sentence, face blank, eyes distant.

There’s not always a reason for this sort of behavior. In the past he’s behaved similarly when distracted by some magical problem; other times Conju or Rhodin have pulled Cliopher aside, warning him that the Lord Emperor was in an odd mood.

Cliopher expected he would at least be somewhat pleased about the return of Cliopher’s sight. But he remains distant, and while he dictates never glances once toward Cliopher’s desk.

It occurs to Cliopher that he heard very little about his Radiancy through the week of his blindness.

It’s not that he’d expect the Lord of Rising Stars to visit; Cliopher isn’t quite that presumptuous. But Conju kept saying that his Radiancy was worried, that he asked after Cliopher…

But could he prefer Aioru as a secretary?

It’s a ridiculous thought. Not the idea of preferring Aioru over him, necessarily; but Aioru’s worked under his Radiancy before. Sometimes for weeks at a time, during Cliopher’s vacations. His lord could have asked for a change at any time.

Is he upset with Cliopher?

You must dispense with these petty treasons…

But that’s not right, either. His Radiancy enjoys when Cliopher looks him in the eye, jokes with him, forgets to say ‘my lord’ at the end of his sentences. Cliopher can’t have misjudged him so badly.

He’s still contemplating this at the end of the day when Rhodin drags him outside the Palace for a celebratory dinner. When he tentatively broaches the subject, Rhodin rolls his eyes. “You’re smarter than that,” he complains. “He’s worried about hurting you again, obviously.”

Oh. That does make sense. “Could it happen again?” Cliopher asks.

“Maybe,” Rhodin contemplates. “Some magic can be cumulative. And, well, you’ve looked him in the eyes more than anyone. Makes sense it would hit you first.” He shakes his head. “But, well. If that’s the case, the threshold would be low now. For you, I mean. One look…” he trails off.

The possibility should have occurred to him before. “He didn’t send me away.”

“Of course he didn’t. But I think he expected you to leave. Not sure what I’d do in your place, frankly.”

“Everyone around his Radiancy understands the risk of the taboos.”

“In a theoretical sense, sure. No one’s touched him by accident since he was emperor. But looking in his eyes? It’s a lot easier to make that mistake, now that we’ve all assumed it was safe… oh, don’t look guilty. You’re still the only one who looked at him regularly. If it took centuries for the magic to affect you, the rest of us are fine.”

That’s true. “It’s my choice to stay,” says Cliopher firmly.

“Yes,” Rhodin agrees. “But a lot of people would say it’s the wrong choice; and you’re right. He won’t send you away.”

That’s fine, Cliopher thinks. People always say he’s making the wrong choices; but Cliopher shows them in the end.

Cliopher thanks Conju and his staff profusely before returning to his rooms. He’s profoundly relieved to be comfortable again in his own space. Over the next week he throws himself back into his work, making up for lost time. He sends off dozens of belated letters to his family, and even finds the time to enjoy a read-through of Aurora. The idea he’d never be able to read Aurora again hurt him, even though Cliopher memorized it long ago.

If anyone noticed Cliopher’s blind trips through the halls – when he had to be led – his brisk return to work assuages any doubts about his health.

Other rumors, however...

The next meeting of the Council of Princes starts smoothly enough. Relatively speaking; these meetings are never easy, but the grumbles and sniping are all the normal sort.

One unusual issue comes from the Princess of Mgunai. She appeals directly to his Radiancy – itself a rare thing – recusing herself from managing a case involving her vassals. She’s found evidence of a widespread criminal conspiracy, but there are so many minor nobles from so many involved families that punishing the perpetrators may rouse them against her. His Radiancy’s involvement would be harder to challenge.

His Radiancy agrees, which in practice means Cliopher will need to handle the problem – especially if it’s necessary to make a trip to Mgunai. He makes a note to start sending out letters, glancing up at his lord on the raised dais.

“We will see this matter resolved,” his Radiancy tells Mgunai. He glances toward Cliopher – this is usually where he might say something like, we trust our Hands to meet an acceptable compromise with those parties, or, our Hands will discuss the particulars with you -

Instead he snaps, “Remember yourself, Sayo Mdang; you know better than to look at us.”

Startled, Cliopher realizes he’s staring right into those golden eyes; he hastily rises to bow an apology before returning to his paper.

There’s a brief, astonished pause around the Council. Cliopher tries to remember if his lord’s ever spoken harshly toward him in public; he can’t think of an occasion.

"Thank you, Glorious One,” says the Princess, sounding smug indeed. And the Council moves on from there.

It’s amazing, really, how much the Palace revolves around his Radiancy’s actions.

All his Radiancy did was scold his secretary for the (admittedly illegal) crime of looking at him. Yet at this scent of blood in the water Cliopher’s work becomes thrice as difficult. Every noble of sufficient rank suddenly condescends to him, smiles lurking between sardonic pity and a more sincere mockery as they explain, oh, they really need their issue in front of his Radiancy as soon as possible. They don’t want their request lost in the paperwork, you see – after all, what if there’s another secretary attending the Sun-on-Earth next week? Wasn’t there another secretary during Cliopher’s recent absence? What was that about, anyway?

Not everyone is so insufferable. Cliopher’s department continues to behave normally; the Imperial guards treat him with perfect respect. But the difference is notable. His lord’s favor has always caused jealousy; it’s just that no one ever saw an opportunity to drive a wedge between them. But the court’s watching for one, always.

He’s fairly certain people are being more explicitly prejudiced, too. Admittedly, that might be coincidence; it’s not unusual for Cliopher to hear snide comments about his savage, common background, or implications he’s a social-climber. But he’s pretty sure they’re not this frequent. He starts to keep count, but after he notes eleven remarks in one day he burns the paper and decides that’s too depressing.

His lord does not invite Cliopher for chess-games, or luncheons; he does not give Cliopher quick little smiles over work, or make wry comments about odder reports. Every day Cliopher goes in and settles at his desk; his lord dictates; he writes. And the Sun-on-Earth paces in a short triangular space around the study, never looking at him.

Cliopher tries not to care. Whether Rhodin is correct, or whether Cliopher’s repeated blasphemies have indeed offended his lord – ultimately, Cliopher is the secretary of the Sun-on-Earth. Not his friend (much as he often, impudently, finds himself thinking of his lord as a friend). Cliopher has no good reason to be hurt.

It’s nearing the end of the day when Cliopher reminds his lord about the situation in Mgunai. “I have received letters from the Princess’ Ministers, and from the local Offices. Thus far seventeen nobles from eight families have been strongly implicated, and there are six more families vaguely involved.”

“How did this go unnoticed?” his lord asks. His pacing’s been getting slower as they approach the end of the workday.

“The Princess’ spy-master retired recently,” Cliopher reveals. He shouldn’t know this, but Rhodin informed him of the fact (Rhodin shouldn’t know, either.) “And Ser Rhodin reports that the replacement went mysteriously missing two months ago.”

So either he was incompetent, and killed, or discovered as treasonous, and quietly executed.

Or he was involved in the conspiracy and fled with his savings. Either way, it would be an embarrassment for the Princess. Cliopher isn’t surprised she declined to mention it.

“Very well,” his Radiancy sighs. “We will need to have Commander Omo coordinate with locals to facilitate the arrest of - Sayo Mdang!"

Cliopher jolts at his lord’s tone, ink splashing down his notes. Cliopher stares in dismay; he never spills ink. “My lord?”

“We have discussed this. You are not to look at our eyes. You should never look at our eyes; is it that difficult for our own secretary to obey the law? You have no excuse for lapses after this many years. We expect that you will not make such a mistake again, if you intend to continue in your position.”

Cliopher could argue that his lord never cared about his errors before, but of course he does not. He scrambles to his feet and bows the deepest apology he knows. “Yes, my lord!"

“We are done for the day,” his Radiancy snaps.

So Cliopher puts away his half-finished notes. He ducks past the inscrutable guards, walking fast so no one in the halls can stop or waylay him. And he struggles to keep his composure.

If you intend to continue in your position… just the implication freezes his heart.

Cliopher is not going to weep through the forty-minute trek to the Alinorel wing just because his lord raised his voice slightly. With good reason! Cliopher is not that fragile, even if he finds his hands shaking.

Frightening magic swirls and collects around his Serenity on the rare occasions of his anger; it rattles Cliopher to have felt that pressure mounting against him, for his own mistakes.

When he finally reaches his rooms he lays down until he feels a little more composed. He spends nearly two hours going through work, re-checking work, and preparing notes for whenever they discuss Mgunai properly. Cliopher wants to have every answer ready for his lord. And he will keep his eyes down, he tells himself sternly. He will be perfect and professional (and maybe, one day, his lord will be less angry.)

He tries to answer some of his family’s unending letters, but he’s not in the right mood for falsifying cheer or funny anecdotes. He eats a bland dinner and decides to get an early rest.

Cliopher will never forget the night of the Silverheart festival – the abrupt darkness, the panic in the halls. When he wakes the next morning it doesn’t quite feel like that, but.

But the darkness isn’t unlike Silverheart, he thinks. His heart thuds in his chest; and then eventually he realizes there’s no need to expect darkness in the rest of the Palace.

Even his own rooms, he’s sure, are not really dark.

Cliopher waits in his bed until he hears the next bell sound. On a normal day he would be outside within another quarter-bell, making the carefully-timed walk to his Radiancy’s study with five minutes to spare. He remains stationary a few minutes longer, then rolls to his feet.

He washes and dons his uniform. He feels along the wall and cautiously enters his kitchen. He knows the layout well enough to find some fruit and cheese, which makes an adequate breakfast. He sets aside his plate and waits.

The half-bell rings out. Cliopher would be late even if he left now.

Cliopher gets up and circles the room until he finds his window. He stands there a few minutes more, feeling the sun on his face. He once read that it’s dangerous even for blind men to look into the sun; something about the power and magic and light damaging eyes, even when the eyes no longer function. It sounded unnecessarily cruel to him at the time. But nature is not cruel; just careless.

The quarter bell tolls. Fifteen minutes.

Cliopher should have known.

He tidies up as best he can, then after consideration puts together a small bag with his clothes, efela case, and such. Since he will, most likely, end up with Conju again.

It’s forty minutes to the Imperial Apartments, and probably took at least half a bell to ensure Cliopher wasn’t just occupied with some emergency at the Offices. So it’s far past the usual time his work begins when Cliopher hears a knock at the door. He has his bag set aside by now, and a carefully-poured cup of tea at hand (overly bitter, which is a mistake that has nothing to do with his blindness).

Cliopher opens the door. He stares into the usual blackness, and Commander Omo murmurs, “Ah.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need some help to report to him,” says Cliopher.

“Of course,” says Ludvic, and takes his arm.

Ludvic sends off a page for Domina Audry before they arrive at the Imperial Apartments. Two guards stamp their spears to announce them – Cliopher has never thought about the tradition much, but he decides he likes it. Much better than guessing if the door is open.

He stumbles a bit when Ludvic drops into obeisance, then belatedly follows suit. He stands and hears ragged breathing. Silence.

Ludvic doesn’t say anything; Cliopher hopes he wasn’t supposed to stay kneeling. “My lord?” he offers.

His Radiancy says, “You are blind again.”

His tone is not quite serene. Cliopher can’t assign an emotion to it; but he sounds breathless. “Yes,” Cliopher agrees. “Since I woke this morning.”

More harsh, shaken breathing. Ludvic speaks – his voice comes from above Cliopher’s ear, so he must have risen at some point. “I have already called Domina Audry, my lord.”

“Yes. Of course; take him to be examined.” A pause. “I will receive your report later, Commander.”

A swish, steps, and the thud of spears – this time from the back of the apartments. Cliopher turns toward Ludvic, puzzled.

“He’s gone to his private study,” Ludvic says. “The Domina should be here soon.”

And she is, though like before she finds nothing to explain Cliopher’s condition. No one really expected she would.

So, Cliopher ends up in Conju’s apartments again. Conju is briskly practical about the whole thing.

“We thought there was a possibility it would reoccur,” he admits. “I’ve been speaking with Kiri – she kept taking interviews for scribes and assistants, and I’m looking for a household. We already have people set aside, and a few potential apartments in this wing.”

Cliopher should probably be annoyed at this presumption, but, well. They weren’t wrong. And he can easily understand the need for contingency plans (especially once they’ve been proven necessary.)

Still. “My sight might return again,” Cliopher says, doubtful.

“Perhaps,” Conju agrees. “But for how long? You can’t just hope your sight fixes itself, Cliopher. Better to be prepared.”

Cliopher must relent – especially as he doesn’t want to impose on his friend more than necessary.

Conju returns to his work – but Kiri stops by again, introducing him to the head of the new assistants she’s found, Sayu Lora. The sheer logistics of this new position quickly exhaust Cliopher, and of course he still needs to clarify several points with his Radiancy…

Well. Whenever his Radiancy deigns to speak with Cliopher, anyway. Presuming he hasn’t changed his mind about the ‘advisor’ thing.

“A guard for you at the door, Sayo Mdang,” says one of Conju’s footmen.

Cliopher smiles blandly. He wishes he knew their names; he doesn’t recognize the footmens’ voices well enough to differentiate them yet. “Thank you,” he says, and waves away help to make his own way back to the front of the apartments.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” says a voice he doesn’t immediately recognize.

Cliopher frowns, looking in what he hopes is the right direction. “Yes?”

“Look, we need to talk,” someone says, and grabs Cliopher’s arm.

He’s been pulled half a dozen steps before he realizes it’s Rhodin; which is too late, because Cliopher shoves him away by reflex. He yanks himself back and promptly trips, toppling hard against a side-table in his haste to get away.

Rhodin’s surprised yelp is followed by a curse. “Fuck, sorry – Cliopher? Are you hurt?” Rhodin pulls him up, patting over his shoulder and arm to check for injuries.

Cliopher bats him away. “I’m fine. Don’t do that.”

“No, sorry,” Rhodin repeats, chagrined. At least he sounds properly remorseful. “I should have said something – we need you at the Apartments, though.”

Cliopher’s annoyance falls away. “Did something happen?”

A silence. “You happened,” says Rhodin, disbelieving. “Yes, Cliopher! He locked himself in his study after you went to see the doctor… he still hasn’t come out, not once.”

It’s been at least ten hours. “Are you sure he’s safe?”

“Yes – Ludvic tried to get through the door, and he opened it enough to throw a pillow at him.”

Cliopher stands still a moment, purely from astonishment. He tries to imagine his Serenity throwing a pillow at the Commander of the Guard; his imagination fails. “He doesn’t let anyone into that study. Maybe he just needs time to… process?”

“He’s had time, we gave him time. He needs you.” A pause. Guiltily, Rhodin adds, “If you want to see him.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting I might blame him.”

“It would be understandable - “

“It would not!”

“Fine, fine. Then, yes, he needs you. Because he certainly blames himself.”

That – that, Cliopher can believe. He waves a hand impatiently until Rhodin gets the hint and links their arms.

As they walk Cliopher wonders if there’s some magic that could help with navigation. Plenty of people live with blindness; certainly they don’t all have servants or guards or a hundred Mdang relatives. Maybe there’s a book somewhere with helpful tricks. If not, that would make an interesting research project…

Later, though.

It turns out Ludvic is the one who sent Rhodin. Yet when they arrive he’s reluctant to let them enter.

“He doesn’t want company.”

“Then why did you summon me?”

Quiet. Ludvic is always sparing with his words, so Cliopher waits patiently. At last he gets the frank reply, “I don’t know how to help.”

“He’s upset?”

“When he opened the door he was crying.”

Cliopher can’t immediately form a reply. His lord has emotions; his lord is just a man. Cliopher’s always known that. But crying!

Crying because of Cliopher.

“He ordered us to leave him alone,” Ludvic says.

Cliopher takes a slow breath. “He’s sad I was hurt; he’s not going to send me away.”

It’s technically blasphemy to suggest the Sun-on-Earth might be sad. But saying as much would currently suggest a level of self-delusion he’s never seen in Ludvic, who doesn’t try.

“No one is meant to enter without permission.”

“And I won’t, without permission. He’s given me instructions to knock in emergencies.” His lord’s made it clear that only his Hands should use that privilege.

“Is this an emergency?”

“Do you think it isn’t?”

A pause. Ludvic sighs audibly, just once, and shuffles aside.

Cliopher takes a moment to locate the doorknob by touch, then steps a polite distance away and raps three times.

No response.

Cliopher knocks harder. Still no response.

So, annoyingly, he keeps doing this on and off for a minute – ignoring the very awkward silence behind him – until the door suddenly vanishes beneath his hand.

A breath hitches. “Cliopher. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to speak with you,” says Cliopher blandly.

His lord snaps, “Commander Omo!”

“I apologize for the presumption, my lord,” says Ludvic immediately; this time his voice comes from somewhere below Cliopher, so he must be bowing or kneeling. “We hoped Sayo Mdang’s presence would be of assistance.”

“Assistance,” his Radiancy repeats.

Cliopher supposes that if he’s going to blaspheme, he may as well commit. “May I come in?” he interjects.

Silence.

It stretches and stretches. Cliopher clasps his hands behind his back and waits.

His lord says, from a little further: “Walk straight forward.”

Cliopher does so without hesitation. His lord must have moved, or at least Cliopher doesn’t ram into him.

“Stop.”

Cliopher halts. The door snicks shut.

It’s ironic that Cliopher is, perhaps, the only person ever allowed into his lord’s personal study, and he still doesn’t know what’s inside. His lord quietly tells him there’s a couch, so Cliopher nudges around with his leg until he locates it.

“The floor is not smooth,” his lord adds; and indeed Cliopher has to carefully step around what feels like piles of fabric. Clothes, maybe? Does his lord enjoy sewing in his free time? Surely Conju would know if he did.

Cliopher shoves aside the thought. “I hope you will forgive my impertinence,” he begins.

His lord interrupts with a dry, humorless laugh. “Now you try to have manners?”

“Well,” says Cliopher. “They would have been very inconvenient a few minutes ago.”

“I imagine so. Why are you here, Cliopher?”

“I thought you may need company, my lord.”

“I am not talking about this.” His lord sounds angry again; it reminds Cliopher unsettlingly of the Council scolding. “I do not mean visiting me. Why are you here? In Solaara?”

“Because I thought the nobility needed someone sensible to tell them what to do,” says Cliopher honestly.

His lord makes a ragged sound, not unlike a groan; it isn’t particularly Imperial. Cliopher tries not to react. “Why are you here?” he repeats. “Why haven’t you left me? Why did you stay, even after you were first blinded?”

“We have no proof that would have prevented anything,” Cliopher says. “And I wanted to stay, my lord. I am sorry if these events have distressed you - “

“Oh, will you quit apologizing!” his Radiancy cries. Cliopher flinches. He’s never heard that sort of raw emotion from his lord, the edge of grief. “You have done nothing wrong, nothing but look at me – I wanted you to look at me, Cliopher. I wanted someone to look at me. So I let you, I let it happen. And now you are blind.”

Cliopher can’t help but be moved to pity. “It is not your fault, my lord.”

“Quit saying that; you don’t have to say that.”

“I say it only because it’s the truth, your Radiancy, not through obligation.”

“Of course you are obligated,” his lord rasps. Is he indeed crying? That’s impossible. But his voice is shaky and hoarse, at least on the verge of tears. “I have blinded you, Cliopher, you of all people; and here you feel the need to try and comfort me. It’s abominable.”

That annoys him; Cliopher permits himself another presumption. “That is not from obligation, my lord. I am not – I am not pleased about my own circumstances. But I will deal with whatever happens. Please, do not use this as a reason to withdraw from your staff.”

“I could hurt any of them, any of you - “

“I knew that the first day I looked you in the eyes,” Cliopher says. “And I kept looking. I don’t regret that. But I cannot bear to think of you miserable for my sake."

Your eyes were beautiful, Cliopher thinks. No; he will not regret it.

All he can hear is his lord’s still-erratic breathing. “Is it selfish to want you to stay?” asks his Radiancy, almost too soft. “I should send you away. Your sight could return. You could recover, away from my magic.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cliopher tells him. “Because I’m not leaving.” He makes the decision only as he says it. Until now there’s always been a shadow of doubt. “I would have stepped aside for a replacement if you found it more practical - but you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

“No,” says his lord. He still sounds quiet, almost guilty.

“Then I am afraid I will not go even if you order me,” says Cliopher mercilessly. “You have named me your advisor. As such, I must tell you it’s ridiculous to send me from the Palace when neither of us would be happy. So you had best save us the embarrassment of an argument, my lord; Conju may faint if I tell you ‘no’ in public.”

Another pause. Cliopher knows there should be bells about now, but the magic of the room muffles them.

Then his Radiancy laughs.

It’s a choked, somewhat frantic laugh, but delighted all the same. “Oh, Cliopher. You are right; you are always right. But I am so afraid of harming you further.”

Cliopher manages, he hopes, not to react to the Sun-on-Earth admitting fear. “You will not, my lord. But I would rather stay with you regardless.”

Chapter Text

They finally decide on ‘Lord Chancellor.’

Cliopher hates the title. He hates the information that he’s going to be assigned fine rooms and servants and a household (from the Palace budget!) It feels like bribery, or at least something greedy; a proper tana does not need baubles and finery to do their work, and Cliopher shouldn’t need fancy trappings to be an advisor to his lord.

Except, he must admit, it will make things easier.

Kiri is the one to suggest a cane; her cousin wrote back with some advice about maneuvering through life blind, and she kindly reads the letter twice for him. There are a lot of interesting ideas, but the cane sounds most immediately useful. Cliopher asks Conju to help acquire one. He does not expect Rhodin and Ludvic to get involved with such a small thing, nor his Radiancy.

Rhodin is the one who brings it to him. He explains, “Ludvic’s helped injured guards get them before, so he knows what to look for. Height and shape are important. He said something about finding a better one, but this will do for now. His Radiancy enchanted it.”

“Enchanted it?”

“There’s a design on the side, here, in the shape of a sun.” Rhodin helps Cliopher touch the pattern on the side, which to him mostly feels like an incomprehensible mess of grooves. “If you twist this the entire cane becomes electrocuted.”

Cliopher jolts back his hand. “It what?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt you. Just everyone else.”

“Why would I want that??”

Rhodin says, “Oh, you know,” and insists Cliopher practice twisting it a few times, just in case.

Conju wants Cliopher to get adjusted to his new rooms before properly moving in with his new household (Cliopher keeps trying not to think about His New Household). Which means touring a few likely locations in the Ystharian wing.

Cliopher drags his feet on this more than is, perhaps, polite. Conju exasperatedly asks if he’s really that attached to living in a shoebox forty minutes away.

Cliopher exhales. “I know how my rooms are set up, Conju.”

A pause. “Oh,” says Conju, embarrassed. “I – yes, that’s true.” A beat. “But it will be much easier if you don’t need to walk that far. And you do need a household, Cliopher. Frankly you needed one before, it’s ridiculous with your schedule that you didn’t. And I’m sure some people manage alone, in the cities and whatnot – but how do you expect to prepare your court-clothes? Keep the place tidy? Goodness, the security issues alone – there could be an assassin lounging on your couch and you wouldn’t - ” Conju stops. “Oh, I’m sorry, Cliopher. I know it’s a lot.”

It is, but Conju isn’t wrong. If he were in Gorjo city Cliopher might be inclined to live alone anyway; no one would care in the Vangavaye-ve if he occasionally mismatched his clothes, or didn’t see a stain (or more likely he’d just wear grass-skirts and call it a day.) He could spend ages cleaning if he liked; he certainly wouldn’t worry about assassins. And if Cliopher really, truly needed help, he could stick his head out the door and shout for any Mdang in walking-distance; there’s always a Mdang to be found on the streets of Gorjo city.

But Cliopher was too busy for menial chores even before; they'll take longer now. He’ll ruin his own reputation if he dresses like a fool in front of the court, which will affect how his policies will be received, which will affect the planet.

And there is, in fact, every reason to fear assassins in the dark.

Cliopher rubs his face. Sighs. “It’s ridiculous. A household of servants, multiple assistants – all for things I did before - “

“And you’re still harder-working than anyone on the Council of Princes,” says Conju firmly. Which frankly sounds like a low bar. “Look, it’s not going to be anything ridiculous. We don’t need you getting lost in your own quarters. It’s a few extra rooms, but everything’s small and modest; it will suit your deplorable desire to be a pauper just fine.”

Cliopher ignores that. “Thank you. I think.”

Privately Cliopher does not find any of the suites they examine small. But at least the choice is obvious; one of the suites has different-textured paneling along the walls of each room, bigger halls, and one wide room that he immediately deems perfect for practicing his dances. It’s only a short walk from the Imperial Apartments.

Conju grumbles a bit about nothing matching, and apparently the bathroom is a hideous shade of orange, which Cliopher cheerfully ignores as Not His Problem.

Aioru comes to read Cliopher the announcement before it’s sent out.

It’s brief, concise, and professional. Cliopher Sayo Mdang, the Hands of the Emperor, has been elevated to Lord Chancellor due to his years of loyal service to the Lord Emperor, His Serene Holiness Artorin Damara, etc, etc; Sayu Aioru will replace him as secretary; Lord Mdang will continue to serve as head of the bureaucratic services, with additional expanded duties; etc, etc.

It’s not terribly clear what those expanded duties will be, but Cliopher will now have the authority to handle more of his lord’s work without needing to bother the Lord Emperor, which is some compensation for all this. He’s told his new secretary already has an appointment-book half filled, which baffles him until Aioru reads out the meetings and he realizes, with confusion, that there’s only a few hours accounted each day.

Aioru asks what he expected half-filled to mean, so Cliopher retrieves one of his own planners. He waits as Aioru flips through it.

A sigh.

“Sir, really?!”

“They’ll need to understand my average schedule if we’re going to work together.”

“This isn’t a schedule, this is a proposal for a heart-attack.”

“I’ve managed it for eight centuries,” says Cliopher, dry. “I haven’t died yet.”

“Does his Radiancy - ?”

“It is not my lord’s duty to manage my schedule,” Cliopher snaps. “I do not intend to use these circumstances as an excuse to grow lax in my work.”

Aioru says, “Literally no one would think that.” But he reluctantly agrees to bring the schedule to his new assistants, as an example. “We’ve prepared a statement about the blindness, too, but Kiri thought you might want to wait on it.”

Cliopher seriously contemplates attending the next Council of Princes without such an announcement (as head of the bureaucratic branch of government he still merits a seat). But he sighs. “We decided a statement should go out, yes.”

“You’re thinking about Amboloyo, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be able to see Prince Rufus’ expression anyway,” Cliopher notes sadly. Aioru snorts.

Cliopher has his own office, now, which branches off from the antechamber of the spacious Ystharian suite. It still feels strange to him, and he lets Franzel rearrange the place until the majordomo professes himself satisfied. Cliopher spends the night afterward tapping his new cane around the space, trying to memorize it. He's still not sure how he feels about the cane, but he's definitely knocking into corners less, so that's something. He wishes he could refer back to Kiri's cousin's letter without asking someone to read it to him...

There’s a desk in the antechamber for one of the assistants; more often they’re both inside, with one reading reports and statistics aloud in a continuous mutter even while Cliopher dictates to the other.

Aioru was right about one thing; he already has plenty of work to do. His first day starts with meetings with the palace budgetary committee, the Minister of Fishing, the Minister of Trade for Western Dair, the Prince of Eastern Dair, and then a small committee for new magical research advocating for blocked-off usage of the sea train.

Cliopher notes sadly there are no less than four meetings about Nijan in the next week. Of course.

But it’s nice to finally feel like he’s accomplishing something. Cliopher stops for lunch at noon, which is conveniently when his assistants rotate. One of them is instructed to read Cliopher reports and letters while he eats a hasty meal, impatient. He then pulls out some paper and touches the corners, trying to imagine a straight line. He scrawls a brief letter to Toucan; Cliopher never answered his last question. They’d been debating an old Astandalan law and he finally found the reference he wanted, just the day before he was blinded.

“How bad is my handwriting now?” Cliopher asks Saya Ira when Sayu Lora pauses at the end of a report.

“...Uh. That looks. Fine?” Saya Ira sounds baffled. “Actually it looks printed. How did you do that?”

“No errors?”

“No, Sir.”

“Very good,” says Cliopher, pleased. “I won’t want to trust my own hand for professional correspondences, I think, but at least I can write my family myself.” He suspects keeping track of the lines will prove hard in longer letters, so he’ll just keep things brief and ask an assistant to proof-read before he sends them through the Lights.

“...I’m pretty sure this is still nicer than either of our handwriting,” says Saya Ira, a little affronted.

The next time Cliopher attends his Radiancy is four days after he’s officially started his work as Lord Chancellor. He’s come with all his latest work bound neatly (he hopes) in a binder Sayu Lora carries. Upon entering he makes his obeisance and immediately stands without waiting to be risen. Sayu Lora makes an odd sound.

His Radiancy speaks normally, though. “Ah, Cliopher. Stand there a moment, please.”

Cliopher does, feeling increasingly bemused as nothing seems to happen. He can’t hear anything except the faint scratching of a pen from his desk (Aioru’s desk, he reminds himself). Scarlet streaks flicker over the blackness. Finally he asks, “My lord?”

A pause. “Nevermind. There is a seat in front of my desk; please show him, Sayu Lora.”

Lora murmurs something that might a very quick yesofcoursemylordgloriousone and takes Cliopher to a new chair that certainly wasn’t there before.

It’s very strange to be in the Presence without his writing-kit. Cliopher really ought to do something with that kit, he thinks regretfully. He could give it to Aioru, but it’s hard to imagine parting with it after eight centuries.

He thinks of Gaudy, too, who’s made some vague references to potentially joining the service…

But Cliopher’s vision came back before. He should wait and see.

“How is your work proceeding, Lord Mdang?” Cliopher winces; he hasn’t yet stopped cringing from the title. His lord laughs, which in itself is rare. Maybe he’s being more expressive for Cliopher’s benefit? “I see we must still accustom you to that address.”

“Yes, my lord,” says Cliopher ruefully. “Sayu Lora has the relevant papers.” But Cliopher memorized today’s agenda, of course, and launches into the first topic.

The day actually goes quite well. They get through Nijan’s latest round of issues, a legal dispute between a few provinces, and then move onto trade agreements. Cliopher hears Aioru writing furiously from the corner of the room, and Sayu Lora doing the same.

When they break for lunch his Radiancy invites all the assistants to join them – Saya Lora makes a pained little sound, but of course everyone accepts.

His Radiancy spends a great deal of the meal quizzing Sayu Lora and Saya Ira on their histories, to their mortification. Cliopher is glad for it; he listens with half an ear as he carefully prods his fork around the plate.

“So your family worked with sculptures? Why did you pursue the service?” his Radiancy asks a pallid Saya Ira, who miserably stutters that, well, they didn’t much like the texture of clay, and it was rather messy…

Aioru valiantly recovers the conversation with an anecdote about a new art-exhibit downtown, which leads to Cliopher remembering he wanted to ask his Radiancy about some of the censorship and modesty laws. He pats absently at his hip, reaching for a pen he does not carry.

Oh, well. He’ll remember it and ask the secretaries to make some notes at the end of the day.

After lunch Cliopher continues chasing this point awhile, then jumps back to an upcoming proposal about adjusting standard criminal sentences. His Radiancy warns that he’ll be working magic in the next few days, and highlights a few projects that may need Cliopher’s oversight until then.

Cliopher tells himself Sayu Lora is certainly noting the list. He clasps his hands together, frustrated.

At the end of the day his Radiancy sounds satisfied. “That was productive, I think; we should make sure to meet regularly, my dear Chancellor, even if you have your own offices now… how do you feel you’re adjusting?”

“I’m concerned I won’t have enough time,” Cliopher regrets. “You can see this way of working is still slower, even with multiple assistants.”

Aforementioned assistants shuffle a little next to him, but say nothing. “I expect time will accommodate,” says his Radiancy, in an odd, ironic tone Cliopher doesn’t understand. “We will see. Enjoy your evening, Sayo Mdang.”

As they leave Cliopher hears Sayu Lora hiss to Saya Ira, “That was slow for them?!”

It’s strange to ask his assistants to read Cliopher’s personal missives. But that’s part of their duties – reading anything and everything mean for his eyes, and generally assisting with anything he needs. Sayu Lora assures him cheerfully that they’re happy to do it.

But their voice gets a little odd halfway through one of the letters.

“...and if you ever get bored of that office-job you’re very welcome to come fish with us full-time,” they say flatly. It’s the seventh letter they’ve gone through, and the third job-offer; the others were for accountant and bookkeeping positions, respectively.

Cliopher carefully writes a brief letter in return, brushing aside the offer with a polite refusal and inquiring about Cousin Fara’s daughter, who just graduated. Saya Ira had the excellent idea of commissioning a wooden board, approximately the same size as standard paper, with notches in the side to differentiate each new line; but he’s still waiting for its delivery, so he keeps the letter brief.

After he’s finished Sayu Lora reads it back, and then asks, “Er, Sir? Can I just – is it a joke?”

“Excuse me?” Cliopher hopes his question about Cousin Andu didn’t sound rude.

“They keep asking you to go work in these – random positions. Is it a family joke, or something?”

“Oh! No, they’re quite serious. They all think I could be doing something better, I’m afraid.”

“...Better. Like. Fishing?”

“It would be much more respectable,” says Cliopher, with a wry smile. “I am, alas, destined to be the family embarrassment. Perhaps just one or two more letters…”

There’s one letter Cliopher does not have them read, the longest. It’s for Basil, and it’s the only one of Cliopher’s letters that contains a description of the things that happened recently – his blindness, his entitlement, and such.

Cliopher never gets a reply to such letters, but he’s always written to Basil to excise his most difficult feelings. Basil probably isn’t alive; maybe there’s some annoyed new inn-keeper on Alinor receiving all these embarrassing, heart-felt letters. But they’re private, and Cliopher does not want to share them. Not even if he does end up with embarrassing ink-blotches or slanted writing or anything else.

Cliopher finds himself busy enough over the next two weeks that he starts to feel better about keeping this role.

Granted, it’s very difficult to adapt to having reports read, and dictating his own responses and letters and pronouncements as his lord always dictated to Cliopher. It’s an annoyance that someone else manages his schedule, even though his assistants are perfectly capable.

He’s resolved to stay, mostly, because it’s become clear his Radiancy wants Cliopher nearby. And despite all the gleam and glamour of the Palace, the absurdly beautiful Imperial Apartments, the mouth-watering foods and divine artwork -

Despite all this, his lord lives under a tremendous burden. If Cliopher can alleviate his unhappiness just by remaining, then he will.

But he still wants to be useful.

So it comes as a great delight when his Radiancy bids Cliopher to attend him one day, and announces, “I am going to audit all your work since your recent appointment.”

Sayu Lora hisses a breath; Cliopher beams. “I love audits,” he says without thinking.

There’s an odd, choked sound from the front before his Radiancy says, “Yes, I know,” in somewhat-trembling tones. Cliopher can’t immediately parse the emotion behind it. More even, his Radiancy adds, “I thought you would be pleased.”

“Thank you, my lord,” says Cliopher happily. It will be so good to get some proper feedback.

His lord tells him to clear his schedule the next day while he looks over the work, and to meet the day after to discuss. Cliopher does so cheerfully.

But his good mood doesn’t last.

He dismisses his assistants mid-morning the next day, after hearing the daily reports, and decides to dance. Then he practices his oboe, which has been much-neglected recently. Franzel wanders by occasionally to try coaxing him into food, but Cliopher isn’t hungry.

He’s not sure why he suddenly finds himself morose, but he eventually sits in that darkness fiddling with his oboe, half-heartedly remembering songs from home, and he thinks: I may never see the Bay of Waters again.

It’s not a new realization. These thoughts just drop into his head sometimes. He will never look at Buru Tovo’s crinkly face, never admire the setting sun over the ocean. Cousins will be born and grow and Cliopher won’t know what they look like. He’ll probably forget faces, too. He will never again admire the splendid teal vase in his Radiancy’s office, or his lord’s lion-eyes.

His sight could come back – perhaps forever, perhaps for days or weeks. But Cliopher holds a sneaking suspicion he’ll eventually lose it for good.

He hears footsteps and assumes it’s Franzel with another platter of unwanted food. His new majordomo is a kindly person, but sometimes over-solicitous for Cliopher’s liking.

Instead Franzel tells him, “Lord Conju has come to visit, Sir; will you take lunch?”

Cliopher blinks, sighs, and puts aside his oboe.

He tries to hide his mood as he goes to greet Conju; Conju’s been a lifeline these past weeks, and doesn’t deserve his poor temper.

Conju comes up and squeezes his arm when Cliopher joins him. He’s been much more tactile lately, Cliopher notices.

“The audit’s going well, in case you were worried,” Conju says. Cliopher wasn’t. “What am I saying, of course you weren’t, you’re probably excited. Well, I had an exciting morning. One of my new assistants managed to spill a bergamot perfume all over his Radiancy’s newest robes, and the scent’s very nice with just a drop or two, but the whole bottle - “

Cliopher dutifully asks questions and even manages a little sympathy for the poor, unnamed assistant (“I’m not firing her, but her hands are so shaky – how can I trust her not to touch him by accident?”) while Franzel sets out lunch.

Franzel announces it’s ready with a soft word at his ear when Conju pauses for a breath. Cliopher thanks him; as the majordomo goes Conju muses, “We should set up a bell system, perhaps. Something so you can find servants without needing to yell for them.”

Cliopher winces at the thought of being the kind of noble who fetches servants with bells. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he denies, and fortunately Conju drops it for now. Probably just humoring him.

Lunch today is a little more tricky than the meals Cliopher’s handled so far. Nothing bite-sized – there’s a few pieces of chicken, bones included, which involves a lot of uncertain tapping and prodding with his fork and knife. The vegetables require a little chasing, and the mashed turnips are so light he suspects he’s flung them a few times, though if so Conju doesn’t give any sign of noticing.

Conju rarely speaks what he’s thinking, though. He tends to make a lot of pained little faces; Cliopher wonders if he’ll be able to read his friend’s moods without such an indicator.

While Cliopher tries to eat Conju keeps chatting about his new assistant. Cliopher asks how he goes about finding staff, which launches his friend into a frankly alarming explanation of noble patronage systems and social networks; it all sounds exhausting. Can’t aristocrats just place an ad in the fliers, like normal people?

Conju’s partway through a scathing criticism of the Lady Ouna’s fixation on velvet when Cliopher’s probing fork scrapes off the side of his plate and knocks against something. His cup, he realizes, and hears a sudden shatter of glass. A few drops of wet spray strike his leg.

“Oh dear. No, don’t move, there’s glass everywhere, I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh – I’m sorry -

“Don’t worry at all,” says Conju briskly. Cliopher can hear him moving around, the thwap and rustle of something – probably a cleaning rag? Where did he even get one? Did Franzel come back? “It’ll take time to adjust, you just need to find a good routine… I’ve talked to the kitchen about getting some cups and plates designed for easy use, actually, they had some good ideas - “

Cliopher doesn’t know how you can redesign a plate, and just settles for nodding. Conju always fusses, that’s nothing new – even if Cliopher is supposed to be the host. It shouldn’t feel so awkward. But it’s frustrating to know he’d just be in the way if he tried to help. Cliopher realizes he’s not even sure where the cleaning supplies are, in this new place.

He’ll get used to this. Everyone says so. He’ll learn how to move properly, how to anticipate people, how to listen and judge distances and -

There’s just so much. Cliopher presses his head in his hands and realizes he’s shaking.

“Oh, my dear.” Conju abandons whatever he’s doing, leaning down to wrap his arms around Cliopher’s shoulders. “It’s fine, really.”

“I’m - it’s not - “ It’s not about the cup.

“I know,” says Conju. “You’ve had a hard week. Come on, I’ll let your household handle this one.”

He pulls Cliopher into another room – which one was this? There’s a couch Cliopher doesn’t remember acquiring. When Conju directs him there he sits close enough that their shoulders touch. He keeps a tight grip on Cliopher’s hand, which helps.

“I feel useless,” he tries to explain.

“Cliopher Mdang, if there’s one thing that you are not, it’s useless. My word! It’s not been two weeks. You wouldn’t reasonably expect anyone to master new skills in a week. Be kinder to yourself.”

It’s weird how Cliopher still has an urge to look away from the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“ - Well. You sound rather upset.”

“Only because I hate to see anyone insulting you – yourself included,” Conju sniffs. “Do you remember when you had fever?”

Bonebreak fever. “It would be hard to forget.”

“You kept trying to apologize for being a bother,” Conju says. “And I told you it was not, because you were my friend. And that was – what – eight centuries ago? Do you expect me to have a different answer now? You’re probably – no, you are, my dearest friend alive. I don’t mind cleaning up some spills, because I love you. And you might have noticed I rather like to take care of people.”

He does, of course. Cliopher squeezes his hand. Basil is probably dead, and though Cliopher has older friends, he admits. “You’re my dearest friend too, Conju.” Beside maybe his Radiancy, who exists in a murkier category. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do with you.”

“Good. Wonderful. Don’t make me say that again? I’m going to cry, and it’s awful for the skin.”

“I’m sure you have some creams for that.”

“Well, obviously, but still.”

His lord pronounces himself satisfied with every one of Cliopher’s choices. And Cliopher believes him; it’s just that he’d feel better if there were something that could be improved. A goal, and a victory to win.

Cliopher gets in the habit of eating every meal while his assistants read reports. He cleans his oboe while they read, and dances, and digs out some ancient needles Aunt Oura gave him before the Fall to try his hand at knitting simple blankets. (He is not good at knitting.)

But even when the assistants read until midnight, he feels behind. Cliopher never realized how slowly other people read…

Is this where you stop?

It’s frustrating. But the work continues, and he starts to think he can manage like this.

Chapter Text

Cliopher rapidly concludes he might need more than ten assistants after one breaks down in tears and goes to Kiri for reassignment. She is unimpressed.

“They said you’re sleeping less than six hours a night,” she tells him. “And that you work virtually every waking hour.”

Cliopher frowns. “Yes, but that’s why they have shifts.” And why he has coffee.

“That’s not the point. I didn’t think you’d actually be working at midnight, Sir!”

Then why did she want him to have ten assistants?

“I had a brief delusion ten would be enough,” she scolds, and he hears her bring out a sheet of paper. “I’ve decided you need an additional appointments secretary for primary hours. And we’re going to assign a permanent rotation of pages to your office.”

“You decided?”

“His Radiancy approves,” she says, knowing him too well; Cliopher’s mouth closes. “I think he found it funny.”

That’s blasphemy, Cliopher resents; it’s also certainly true.

Ludvic stops Cliopher in the hall the next day as Sayu Lora’s leading him to the Helma Council meeting. “I made something for you,” he says without preamble, and drops something vaguely cube-shaped into Cliopher’s palm.

It’s heavier than he’d expect for the size. Cliopher runs his fingers over the object. It moves with a little pressure, he discovers; each side is divided into segments, with various distinct surfaces over each movable part. “Made it?”

“With wood. It’s a puzzle.”

Ludvic is always brief in speech; it’s a little more exasperating when Cliopher can’t read his expression. “I – thank you. I didn’t know you… carved?” he hazards.

“A little. You’re meant to match it so that each side has the same patterns.”

“Oh!” That makes sense; Cliopher can tell some of the raised surfaces are similar. Each side seems subdivided into nine parts.

Ludvic adds, “I thought it might be nice during meetings. You fidget worse than his Radiancy when you don’t have a pen.”

Sayu Lora shifts next to him. Cliopher says, “His Radiancy doesn’t fidget.”

A huff. “Sure. How are you doing?”

Cliopher hesitates. “Settling into the routine,” he says, diplomatic.

“Hmm.” Silence stretches long enough that Cliopher wonders if Ludvic is still there. Then, “Conju said you keep complaining about not doing enough.”

Sayu Lora makes another vaguely-horrified sound.

Cliopher bites down his first, dismissive response; Ludvic deserves a considered answer. “I can see that I’m still able to contribute to the workings of government,” he says slowly. “But it does all feel… excessive. The rooms, servants, assistants. And I keep thinking his Radiancy shouldn’t…” Cliopher should not, of course, imply his Radiancy’s judgment could err. “Well. I wonder if it’s really practicality, or if he’s just guilty. It feels like I’m taking advantage of that.”

Another pause. “Do you remember your first day as his secretary?”

“Of course I do.” Ludvic must be remembering how he looked at his Radiancy, even then. How he broke the taboo immediately.

“When you left his Radiancy told us that if you were blinded, we should get your name and ensure you received a stipend for the rest of your life,” Ludvic says. “So you and your family didn’t suffer for the magic.”

Cliopher closes his eyes, feeling – feeling a lot of different emotions. “When I left I went to my rooms, and wrote letters in case I was executed for treason.”

Ludvic says, “Ah,” and they both consider this. “Don’t tell him that.”

“No, I will not.”

“My point is – that was before he knew you. And before you became irreplaceable to his government. You can’t fault him for trying to make reparations; you know he’d want to ensure the comfort of anyone hurt by the taboos.”

“I’m just glad he didn’t send me away.”

“He wouldn’t,” says Ludvic, and Cliopher thinks of those quiet almost-crying sounds in the private study, and believes him.

Cliopher admits about an hour later that he really likes the puzzle. Which does not mean he fidgets; but it’s nice to have something in his hands while he talks.

And he talks a great deal during the Helma Council. He’s pleasantly surprised that he manages fine without his notes; he remembers all the facts and figures he needs, which causes some consternation among the first people who try to challenge his statistics.

Actually, Cliopher finds that it’s slightly easier to speak when he doesn’t need to focus on taking notes; the mindless act of twisting the puzzle isn’t such a distraction. Saya Ira writes furiously beside him the whole while.

There’s something a little odd, a little nervous, about the way other nobles speak to him. At first Cliopher assumes it’s the blindness. Then he recognizes that people are being unusually polite, and wonders if it’s due to his new title.

Then he remembers the Council of Princes, the last one where his Radiancy scolded him. Courtiers of all ranks leapt at the chance to degrade him in the halls, assuming he’d erred enough to land in considerable disfavor. Instead his lord promoted Cliopher.

When the Duke of Nivarro congratulates him on his title Cliopher barely knows what to say; two days after that Council meeting the man condescendingly told Cliopher he should let someone else have his Radiancy’s ear, if he can’t handle the stress or act according to his station.

A slow anger stirs in him.

It shouldn’t matter if he has a title, or sight, or even his lord’s favor – why can’t they all just listen to what he’s saying? To the words and ideas? Why can’t he succeed on the basis of merit alone?

Cliopher is good at his job; he knows this. He’s made important changes for all of Zunidh. But his Radiancy could have dismissed him the very day Cliopher came to his service. By all laws and traditions Cliopher should have been executed. And Zunidh would not have the Treaty of Littleridge, the Postal Service, the Indrogan Estates -

Perhaps that’s too aggrandizing; other people might have implemented similar changes. Maybe. But these are good things he’s done, and ultimately they happened only partially because they were good, and very much because his Radiancy’s favor worked on Cliopher’s behalf.

The Council is fine; in fact it goes very well, mostly because everyone is too disconcerted and unsure around Cliopher to really argue with him. Of course, the Helma Council tends to be tedious, but not nearly as charged as meetings with the Council of Princes. That will be a true test.

Cliopher finishes the day with the intent of making a brief report to his Radiancy before retiring. He plans to dismiss his assistants to the antechamber early; if nothing else it will make Kiri happy.

His lord, when Cliopher arrives, has other plans.

“How do you feel about visiting the opera?” he asks cheerfully. And when one is invited by the Lord Emperor there’s only one reply.

The Vangavaye-ve is the home of music, and it is the role of the Mdangs to keep lit the hearthfire of civilization. His family is full of musicians and story-tellers, taking their traditional role of lore-keeping and drawing forth a well of inspiration for all music.

So of course Cliopher loves music. He isn’t great at it; he usually sticks to dancing, back home, and only the family-dances that he’s confident in.

(He still needs to figure out how he’ll practice Aōteketētana… it’s hard to tell he’s doing it correctly without examining the marks on the floor.)

Anyway; this is all to say that he enjoys music.

And so does his Radiancy. The Lord of Rising Stars does not often voice specific preferences, but occasional court musicians are one of the few indulgences he’ll seek deliberately (unlike the ones Conju and his attendants heap upon him unasked-for).

It’s not the first time he’s invited Cliopher to the opera. All of Solaara’s theater-houses have royal boxes, and they often send the Palace invitations for new or especially successful plays. It’s rare for his Radiancy to have the time for such things, much less both of them, but he does encourage the arts. Sometimes there’s a political purpose to these visits, too. Six centuries ago he made a pointed visit to a play about an impoverished noble-family who sold their lands and became merchants after a similar merchant’s stall received significant harassment in the city, which died an abrupt death.

They walk down together from the Palace. Which is to say that Cliopher walks, escorted by one of the guards; his Radiancy must take a litter to avoid scandal. He asks with a hint of laughter in his voice if Cliopher would like one as well. He’s offered the same many times, and in recent centuries has progressed to gravely advocating the merits in the face of Cliopher’s ill-concealed horror.

He doesn’t sound quite so teasing today, probably because Cliopher’s genuinely struggling with travel; but that only makes him more determined to refuse.

Also, he’d die if he were seen in a litter. It would probably make the papers.

Cliopher contemplates the Csiven Flier even as they make their way down to Solaara. The streets are more textured than the pristine Palace, so even while holding Rhodin’s arm he takes care to sweep with the cane as he walks. It’s a bit shorter than he’d like, he decides, and his friends are still getting accustomed to this; Rhodin doesn’t always remember to warn him about obstacles.

The Csiven Flier has always spoken quite well of Cliopher; he’s not sure whether that’s a genuine compliment or just Imperial propaganda. Regardless, it’s been reporting heavily on Cliopher’s recent ascension to Lord Chancellor – including his blindness. The outpouring of sympathy has become frankly uncomfortable. The papers also express admiration that he’s continued to serve the Sun-on-Earth after being blinded.

Which is a bit silly. Did they expect him to respond with bitterness? He knew the risks.

There’s always something of a spectacle when his lord travels through Solaara. Distant cheers, then a wave of silence nearby. Civilians fling themselves into obeisance upon spotting the golden palanquin and all the Imperial guards with their leopard skins and gold-tipped spears. Cliopher can picture what they're seeing. His Radiancy always looked effortlessly regal and elegant, like a painting. It’s the image they want to give; power and beauty and composure, a fleeting glimpse of the living god to leave people satisfied with Zunidh’s security.

There’s only one snag as they walk – a sudden rustling in the crowd. Cliopher’s not sure what happens, except that Rhodin’s arm grows tense under his hand. Suddenly he pulls it away, grabs Cliopher’s waist, and hustles him to the side. Someone else – hopefully another guard? – brackets Cliopher’s left.

“Rhodin?” he asks, bewildered.

“Nothing to worry about,” says Rhodin with forced cheer. “Just keeping you closer to Himself for a moment.”

Cliopher tamps down on a flicker of frustration. It’s clearly a lie, and he doesn’t appreciate being kept in the dark – but in fairness the guards tried to keep security issues away from him even before the blindness. It’s our job to make sure you don’t need to worry, Ludvic told him once.

Which is fine, but Cliopher would like to know why he’s being yanked around. He listens to the murmurs and hears something about Mgunai, but nothing that helps him. The litter keeps moving, now faster; Cliopher can’t even use the cane because he’s so closely surrounded by guards. At one point he stumbles when the road elevates, and is only stopped from falling by the unknown guard grabbing him. A quick, “Sorry, Sir,” identifies this as Pikabe.

He’s very relieved when their group arrives at the theater. Whatever happened, it can’t be too serious if they’re still seeing the play.

Cliopher feels better once they’re all established in the seats. He knows from experience that his Radiancy is seated a few feet away – well out of accidental touching-distance! – but the Royal Box is soundproofed, so they can talk freely while waiting for the start.

Cliopher uses this opportunity to ask about the ruckus outside. “Was there some issue on the way here, my lord?”

“A minor disturbance… I do not think it was any sort of threat. You know Princess Mgunai’s people have been quarrelsome; many of them have been harassing your staff and mine for an audience.”

Cliopher frowns; his assistants haven’t mentioned that. “I have not seen any such complaints, my lord.” In fact all his notices about Mgunai stopped abruptly, now that he thinks about it.

“No, your office is still investigating; Sayu Aioru is keeping me informed.”

Cliopher’s frown deepens. “But why haven’t I…”

“For various reasons I’ve decided to deal with the matter personally; your staff have been instructed to forward all communications regarding the situation to Aioru.” Which is highly unusual, especially since Cliopher’s meant to be taking over more of his lord’s manifold responsibilities. “Though Ludvic does want to discuss - “

Sudden silence.

“My lord?” Cliopher prompts, bemused by the hush.

“The lights went off,” his Radiancy says. The play must be starting.

After another minute a voice calls from the stage, briefly announcing the name of the play, its composer, and a brief prayer of gratitude toward the Sun-on-Earth. Cliopher’s attended this location with Conju before and knows they usually leap straight into the performance. This introduction only occurs when his Radiancy visits – maybe as a genuine mark of respect, but also to highlight his attendance. Finally the performance begins.

Cliopher realizes his lord never said which play they were seeing. But Cliopher knows this one well; he’s seen it once on his own before the Fall, once with Conju, and once on another occasion with his Radiancy. It’s less musical than many selections, a lonely story; as it continues the ecstatic dances become less and less frequent, and the actors are left just monologuing and arguing on an empty stage.

Which doesn’t make the acting less important, per se; but there is less for Cliopher to miss, especially when he already knows what’s happening.

And he does enjoy the songs in the first half, even if he can’t watch the dancing. At one point the audience gasps. His Radiancy explains loudly enough to carry to Cliopher, “They’ve brought in a real tiger, rather than a puppet. I cannot imagine how they trained it.”

After this his lord becomes more animated. He adds occasional comments on the actors, the blocking of the stage, the scenery. Cliopher deduces he is not particularly impressed by the scenery; hopefully no one relays his words to the set designer.

It’s a pleasant evening overall. But Cliopher can’t help but wonder why his lord would shut him out of an important diplomatic situation.

At the end of the week they prepare for the Council of Princes.

Cliopher’s new circumstances aside, it’s an important meeting because they’re voting on a new set of safety standards for laborers. So his Radiancy tests Cliopher on the arguments he’s likely to hear, shifting into a mock-debate style. Cliopher secretly loves these kinds of preparations. They’re important, of course. He really does need to think about both the opposing stances and the insults he’ll hear the next day. But it’s also like a game; the first time they did this Cliopher was forcibly reminded of his short-lived reign in the Gorjo City theatre as a schoolchild, and the comparison has amused him since.

Especially when his Radiancy tries to imitate Prince Rufus.

Saya Ira audibly gasps when his Radiancy suggests – in a cutting tone – that perhaps Lord Mdang might take advantage of his new assistants to read admiring articles about himself and indulge his ‘masturbatory hero fantasies’ about saving the masses.

Cliopher bursts out laughing. “Oh, that is exactly what he would say.”

“Maybe not right away,” his Radiancy admits, in a more normal tone. “He’ll wait until the Council after next, perhaps. Mocking you immediately would be gauche.”

“Surely he wouldn’t!” Saya Ira forgets herself enough to burst. “Oh – I’m sorry, my lord - “

“Not at all,” says his Radiancy. “But Prince Rufus really is apt to say such a thing, and more. You haven’t attended Council before? I am sorry to say you’ll soon see that it’s much less polite and respectable than you imagine.”

“At least Prince Rufus is creative,” Cliopher concedes. “Oriana usually just says I’m poor and illiterate." Cliopher frowns. "Wait. Do I count as illiterate now?"

"No," says his Radiancy, definitive. "I am certain you can still write better than Oriana."

Cliopher’s in a more cheerful mood by the end of this meeting. “I’ve never heard him talk that much,” Sayu Lora whispers as they leave.

Cliopher isn’t sure whether that was meant for him or Saya Ira, but he laughs. “He won’t talk half as much at the Council. He doesn’t like to influence things.”

“What? But – the whole point is to influence things. You just spent an hour practicing arguments.”

“And if he says, ‘I would like to pass this proposal,’ then it will happen. The Council won’t argue. But they also won’t agree; they might not present arguments we haven’t considered, stemming from genuine problems. He’s not trying to be a tyrant. They’ll argue with me, though.”

“And call you a ‘brain-damaged sunfish’?” Lora asks, quoting another of the faux-Rufus remarks.

“That, too,” he says dryly. That insult came from a real example; Cliopher remains impressed that Rufus knew about sunfish.

The one thing Cliopher hates most about this new way of living, he decides, is walking.

He’s always been an active person. Granted, much of his life these days includes sitting at a desk. But he loves dancing, hiking, sailing, swimming…

In Solaara he could never do those things. But he liked hiking in the Liaau, when he can afford the time. He took long, meandering strolls in the gardens, or visited new shops in the city.

Except now he can’t, because he needs someone to guide him.

Well; he could still do these things. Some of them. He has assistants and servants, and it’s been clearly outlined in all their jobs that escorting him places is part and parcel of their work. But it’s uncomfortable asking people to just walk him here or there. Yet the Palace is huge, and crowded. So walking it alone…

He’s determined he will walk it alone one day. He’s still getting comfortable with the cane, but it helps immensely. The main problem is that battering into people’s feet would prevent a collision… but it doesn’t stop him from, well. Smacking people in the feet with his cane. He’s still trying to figure out a solution to that.

In any case, it’s doubly-awkward to be led to his seat for the Council.

Cliopher knows he’s being watched. Maybe by everyone; why should they feign disinterest when he can’t see their stares? He’s interacted with a few of the Princes in private meetings since his blinding, but not many. He sits stiffly in his chair, silent, as Saya Ira takes her own seat. Paper rustles beside him. In lieu of a pen he reaches into a pocket and starts absently twisting Ludvic’s gift.

One day it will stop feeling strange that he can’t take notes. But Cliopher suspects it will take a long time.

Tension settles across his shoulders. All he can hear is rustling, the occasional half-heard murmur. Which must mean people are still filtering in. Cliopher hates that he can’t tell.

He’s also unsure what’s happening when suddenly a large number of chairs move across the floor. Fabric rustles and shifts, and more paper. Someone hisses, “Lord Mdang - !"

“That is quite alright, Prince Belu,” his Radiancy cuts in. “Take your seats, please, and we can begin.”

...Oh; his Radiancy entered. And Cliopher didn’t rise. Heat warms his face.

“Sorry, Sir,” Ira whispers. He hears her pen scratching as the meeting begins.

While his Radiancy directs the agenda, it is Cliopher’s place to speak in defense of their ideas. So he’s not completely silent. He introduces topics, mediates. He…

Cliopher knows he’s not speaking enough. Not like he usually would. It burns him, and a slow curl of embarrassment twists in his stomach. Cliopher’s sat on this Council for centuries. It’s ridiculous to feel unsure of himself now, just because he can’t look at his opponent’s condescending faces.

No one wants to look at Prince Rufus’ face anyway, he thinks childishly. Even if he does have nice freckles.

Surprisingly Cliopher gets less accusations and confrontations flung his way, too. Maybe they’ve noticed his subdued behavior, and don’t want to risk riling him into action. But then Cliopher remembers his Radiancy’s comment. Mocking you immediately would be gauche…

Maybe they don’t know how to talk to him; or maybe it’s just pity.

He clenches his hand around Ludvic’s gift as the conversation turns toward Mgunai.

“I’ve been informed you’ve not met with any of my vassals who reached out, Lord Mdang,” says the Princess sharply; at least she doesn’t sound pitying. Cliopher cannot imagine this young Princess showing compassion for anyone. “I imagine you may be overstretched, coming to this position with so little preparation or any reasonable expectation of promotion. But I hope you understand how to prioritize.”

Cliopher smiles thinly. Well, not everyone is stepping lightly. He opens his mouth to reply.

“Lord Mdang has not met with them, Princess, as I’ve chosen to handle the issue personally,” says his Radiancy in cool tones. “Unless you find issue with my involvement?”

Princess Mgunai hastens to assure that she does not.

“Very good. Tell your vassals they may address any further protests to Sayu Aioru’s care. If that is all…”

Cliopher starts twisting the puzzle again.

His Radiancy dismisses Cliopher as soon as the Council’s done – which is not ‘soon’ at all. The guards are due to shift about the same time, so Rhodin walks him to Conju’s apartment. They’ve been invited for dinner.

The majordomo ushers them into the small dining-room. By this point Conju’s staff are briskly comfortable pushing treats onto Cliopher, so they’re well-occupied with appetizers by the time Ludvic arrives. Conju himself is probably still attending his Radiancy.

“What happened to you?” Rhodin asks, puzzling Cliopher. Rhodin sounds amused.

“I didn’t feel like going all the way to the barracks and back.”

“That’s not what I asked. Oh, sorry Cliopher – he’s got something all over his sleeves. It’s, eh. Green? Greenish-black. I’m shocked Conju’s staff let you in.”

Ludvic sounds faintly exasperated. Like Cliopher he’s never much cared for the picky formality of aristos. “Does it matter? We caught a drunkard flinging paint at the doors of a lord who fired him… it’s dry. I didn’t think Conju would mind.”

“He’ll say he doesn’t mind. But he will. Come on, let’s at least make an effort to clean that off – oh, excuse us a minute, Cliopher.”

Sure.

Cliopher starts twisting the puzzle again as he’s left alone. He hears someone moving around the table – a servant? He does not ask, but he can hear the quiet shush of water being poured. A clink of ice.

Cliopher’s not sure why he’s so uncomfortable today. Being blind shouldn’t change anything about just chatting with his friends. He’s been to dinner with the rest of the senior household a hundred times.

But he wishes he could see their faces.

Conju arrives just as Rhodin and Ludvic return.

“What happened to you!” he cries, unconsciously parroting Rhodin.

“That’s what I said,” Rhodin laments.

“I think you made it worse,” says Ludvic.

“You’re both hopeless. Lesla, dear, could you grab a jacket?” One of the servants. “No, you’re not wearing that, Ludvic, isn’t it uncomfortable?”

Despite himself Cliopher relaxes under this familiar sound of fussing. Ludvic must receive the aforementioned jacket, and they finally sit down.

Cliopher notes he has a sectioned plate, like the new ones that materialized in his own apartment. At least here he doesn’t have to worry about scrutinizing courtiers if he drops something. Of course the food is excellent; in terms of quality Cliopher can rarely tell a difference between Conju’s table and his Radiancy’s, at least when Conju decides to make an event of things. (He's had some very sad and sometimes boozy concoctions with Conju in the late-night; Conju's dragged him up more than once to cry after bad breakups).

“So tell us what happened, go on,” says Conju.

“It really wasn’t exciting,” says Ludvic, but obediently tells them about the employee woes of Count Alogan, who based on reputation probably deserved the vandalism.

This passes a little time, and spurs Conju gleefully relay how he’s poached three attendants from the Duke of Bastim. Rhodin observes that Conju’s going to earn his resentment.

“Oh, never,” says Conju. “I just say what an excellent job he must be doing, training them to his Radiancy’s standards, and the moron’s happy for a few months… He’s too distracted by his gambling debts to care, anyway.”

“Oh, speaking of gambling! I brought you something, Cliopher.” Rustling. Rhodin taps his arm. “Put out your hand.”

A little warily, Cliopher does. Rhodin drops something small onto his palm. It immediately starts to slide. He closes his fingers. “Cards?”

“Yes, feel them. There’s patterns on the front.”

Cliopher carefully runs his thumb over the card until he finds a thick diamond-shaped section protruding from the center; below it is a single raised dot. The next card has another diamond, but two dots. “Oh, thank you! That seems like a specific thing to make,” he adds, pleasantly surprised. There can’t be a large market.

“Saw them in a little magic shop – they’re not magical, though. Not sure how easy it will be to tell them apart, but we can try later – oh, what is this one Conju? Were you experimenting again? This is a failure, sorry.”

“It is not,” says Conju. Cliopher’s pretty sure they’re talking about the freshly-delivered tea, because Conju audibly clinks down a glass in front of him. “I added blueberry and cheese whey.”

“To tea? It tastes like sour milk.”

“It does not!”

Cliopher carefully locates his cup and takes a sip. It does, in fact, remind him of old milk, albeit with an odd fruity undertone. He controls his expression. Cliopher reminds himself that Conju has been an exceptionally good friend lately, and he should be nice.

“What do you think, Cliopher?”

...Cliopher does not know if he’s nice enough to do anything that might encourage Conju to pour him more tea. He says, “Ah.”

“Don’t torture the man,” Rhodin complains, and fortuitously plucks the cup from his hand.

This leads to more squabbling, but eventually Cliopher’s handed a small glass of rum instead, which suits the mood much better. They all retire to the lounge with glasses in hand, because aristos must shuffle between their many rooms at different stages of socialization. “And here, have some chocolates,” Conju adds, pressing a small dessert-plate into Cliopher’s hands. There must be some set out. Well, he won’t turn down a personal selection of chocolate.

Ludvic must be drinking too, because he gets a little more chatty as the night progresses. It’s never possible to tell if Rhodin’s buzzed, and if it is, he probably just wants you to think he’s drunk. Cliopher sips at his rum and eventually realizes it’s been full all night. Someone must be refilling it.

...he should probably drink less.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Ludvic says.

There’s a lull in conversation; Cliopher realizes Ludvic must be addressing him. He gives a wry smile. Cliopher isn’t accustomed to being short on words.

Rhodin saves him. “You’re talkative tonight,” he counters easily. “It’s the jacket, Conju, it gives him confidence. Stunning. Absolutely ravishing.”

Conju taps Cliopher’s arm to confide, “It’s purple and bursting. Ludvic’s shoulders are too big.”

“You’re skinny,” says Ludvic.

“I am slender, thank you. But it really isn’t your color.” Conju leans against Cliopher’s arm.

Ludvic might not be the most talkative person, but he can be persistent; he eventually veers back to Cliopher. “Are you finding it easier to get around now?”

Cliopher hesitates. But no one saves him this time, and the expectant pause grows uncomfortable. “Better, yes… I do wish… these halls are just so crowded. It would be nice to go places myself…”

“You just need to adjust,” says Conju. “That’s what servants are for.”

“I don’t think servants are meant to help people walk.”

“You do remember his Radiancy’s litter?” asks Rhodin, dry. “Your job must be going well, at least. Prince Rufus has been complaining about how annoyingly competent you are.”

Okay, that’s satisfying.

But his new secretaries aren’t around, so Cliopher can complain, “I've just realized how slowly other people read.”

A snort. “Can’t help you with that,” Rhodin says.

“But it’s going better,” Conju insists.

“Yes,” Cliopher admits. “I feel like I’m getting things done, at least. And I quite like the staff you picked out, although they are sometimes too circumspect.”

“Franzel said they’re working on that. But I’m glad to hear it. You never eat enough. Have more chocolate.”

Conju is the sort of host that spends half his own dinners on his feet, so they all endure more fussing. Ludvic prompts, “You have a vacation coming up soon, don’t you?”

“...Not really soon,” says Cliopher, reluctant. “Two months.”

He’s been trying not to think about it. The papers have gone on and on about his new disability; this recovery will probably make the political columns, too. But if his family’s heard the news they haven’t commented. Maybe they think it’s exaggerated?

“I’m surprised no one came to visit,” Ludvic continues, mild in his cuttingly-precise way. Cliopher clenches the glass.

He’s not surprised. No one’s ever visited; he’s not sure what would count as sufficient provocation to drag his family out to Solaara. Not Kip, certainly.

But maybe they don’t know. Cliopher hasn’t said anything, in fairness, and they’ve never shown interest in the news before.

Cliopher realizes they must expect him to reply when the silence stretches. Then Conju says, “I’m getting you another jacket, Ludvic, this is ridiculous. Hmm; and we should go shopping some time. I never see you in anything but those uniforms.”

“Oh, no,” says Ludvic, mildly alarmed. Cliopher’s heard him sound less ruffled in the aftermath of assassination-attempts.

“Oh, yes,” says Conju, pleased. “I know the perfect place, there’s this new shop that just opened…”

Cliopher relaxes in his chair.

He wishes he could watch Ludvic’s face as he tries to insist he doesn’t need stylish clothes. Wishes he could see the stain Conju keeps fussing over, and maybe trade amused looks with Rhodin.

But he does have some excellent friends, Cliopher decides. So it’s a fine night anyway.

Chapter Text

Cliopher’s new bathroom really is hideous.

He comes to this conclusion four hours after the midnight bell, before his household has risen. It’s been two months since his sight disappeared for the second time, and he can see again. Cliopher thinks about this as he washes his face.

It’s oddly disorienting to move through these familiar rooms he’s never seen. He spends a quarter-bell just wandering through his own quarters. There are paintings on the walls; he doesn’t know whether they were here prior to his move, or added by Franzel. Maybe Conju? He’s unnerved to find a small portrait of his Radiancy in one of the rooms, the kind used for shrines. He’ll have to ask Franzel to get rid of it. Not that Cliopher would mind having a picture of his lord, but he knows they make his Radiancy uncomfortable.

He spends a little time trying to memorize the exact layout of his cupboards and cabinets from this new vantage. Then he decides to dance.

In the time since being blinded Cliopher’s practiced the lesser fire-dances, but never Aōteketētana. There are no other Mdangs in Solaara; no one knows the patterns to lay upon the floor, and even if they did, Cliopher wouldn’t have any way to check he’s moving correctly. One day he’ll need to figure out a system… maybe he could paint the lines in something wet, so he’d feel if he makes a mistake? When he goes home he’ll have to ask Tovo or Lazo, maybe, for ideas.

But right now it doesn’t matter; he can see again. It feels good to dance and realize he hasn’t lost this one thing.

He dances the full Aōteketētana, which leaves him covered in sweat. He hears the household stirring as he goes to take a bath, but doesn’t seek out company. By the time he gets out he finds Franzel’s left an outfit on his bed. He dresses and heads to the dining-area. Fortunately he’s just about convinced Franzel that he doesn’t need help dressing (although that does not seem to deter his new majordomo on court-days; in fairness his new outfits are absurdly grand, and have far too many buttons).

Franzel’s by the table when he arrives – though Cliopher isn’t certain it’s him until he speaks. He realizes with a little bewilderment that he didn’t know what Franzel looked like. Cliopher’s also bemused to note the entire room is still barely-lit, only visible by the light seeping through a covered window. “Good day, Lord Mdang, Saya Ira will be by in a moment to read the morning reports.”

“That’s not necessary, thank you, I’ll take them myself today.”

“Sir?” Franzel regards him with polite confusion, meeting his gaze. “Oh! You’re – oh, wonderful. Shall I call the doctor?”

Cliopher considers. “Not immediately – she’s never found anything before. I’ll send one of the pages and see when she’s available.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Cliopher eats and gets his reports from his startled assistants. As he’s headed to his office Franzel comes to clear the plates. “I hope you know you don’t need to keep the rooms dark,” Cliopher points out, still curious. “It obviously doesn’t bother me, but - “

“Oh!” Franzel blushes. He claps his hands, and the magelights brighten. “Helps stave off headaches, you know.”

Cliopher shrugs. “Then by all means.” It’s not like he can’t navigate without. He waves off Sayu Lora when they automatically proffer an arm. His assistant apparently has beautiful gray eyes. Saya Ira looks permanently frazzled with a shock of wild honey-colored hair. Cliopher tries to memorize these details without staring.

His office is surprisingly nice, and Cliopher admires the lovely cherry-wood desks as he settles to read. He’s a bit baffled by the bookcase behind his desk, though. “...when did I get books in here?” he asks Sayu Lora. They’re beautiful, and mostly of uniform size.

“Lord Conju ordered them,” they reply. “These law-books on the end are references for us; the rest are blank.”

...aristocrats are so weird, Cliopher marvels. He reminds himself to hide his copy of Aurora while he can still find it.

Cliopher’s in an excellent mood for the first half of the day. He gets through his work quickly, and still makes good use of the secretaries’ help. After lunch the secretaries rotate. Cliopher’s leaves for his regular appointment with his Radiancy.

It’s only as the guards let him in, as Cliopher enters to fall into obeisance, that he remembers -

“Oh, my lord,” Cliopher sighs, exasperated past the point of formality as he looks at his lord’s shoulders. “Please turn around.”

“We can work fine at a distance,” says his Radiancy curtly. He starts up his pacing, head resolutely turned aside. “In fact this would be an excellent time for you to start your planned audit on - “

“My lord, you have named me your Lord Chancellor; you cannot simply avoid me forever.”

Still not looking at him, his Radiancy mumbles something suspiciously like, I can try.

Cliopher sighs, ignoring the openly-scandalized expression of Saya Ira – is she always this expressive? “My lord. We have already discussed this, and - “

“And I am not sending you away; but I still don’t understand how you are so brazen,” his Radiancy complains. “Is it really worth risking your sight, just to speak with me? Are you so attached to your position?”

“I would rather continue visiting you than be able to see,” says Cliopher mildly. “If that is the trade, so be it. You can accept that gamble, or I can ask Domina Audry how to kickstart permanent blindness so you’ll stop fretting and sulking about it.”

This is (probably) a bluff. But at least he’d stop wondering when he’ll inevitably go blind for good.

Sayu Lora gasps audibly. In the corner Aioru has his head bowed, shaking a little; Cliopher can’t tell if it’s from fear or mirth.

His Radiancy just laughs. It’s not a very happy sound. “You would, wouldn’t you? Fine, fine. But at least try - “ Golden eyes glance up, then veer away. “At least try not to look at my eyes, Cliopher!”

“Yes, my lord,” says Cliopher, chagrined. “...I do not think I would have fared well in your company before the Fall.”

Another laugh, more real. “My guards back then were so corrupt you’d have been executed after the first day. Well! Nevermind. Come tell me what you have. And your secretaries can still make notes, you know. Put down that kit.”

Cliopher likes his writing-kit, thank you very much, but grudgingly accedes.

The meeting passes smoothly – and not, really, unlike any of the meetings during Cliopher’s blindness. The only difference is that it’s very, very odd not to stare at his Radiancy’s beautiful eyes. Cliopher likes watching his Radiancy. He always has. He distracts himself awhile following his lord’s billowy robes, than finally hits on a good distraction in admiring his favorite vase instead.

His Radiancy ends the meeting by saying, “Very good. You will take the next four days off.”

Cliopher blinks, startled, even as some part of his brain starts automatically reorganizing plans. “My lord?”

“I am not trying to avoid you. But your sight has just returned; I think we both assume it will not last. You should enjoy that time. Rhodin mentioned you miss the Liaau?” Cliopher does, though he doesn’t recall telling Rhodin. “This has been a difficult period regardless, and you deserve to rest.”

Cliopher disagrees with that last point – mostly because it’s coming from his lord, who never spares more than an hour a day on himself. But he bites back the response.

Because Cliopher does want to see things, he realizes. More than just papers or reports. And – his heart pangs – the Liaau is not a bad idea. Cliopher doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel confident hiking there blind, though he’s vaguely contemplated the notion.

So he just murmurs, “Thank you, my lord,” and starts planning an itinerary of his favorite shops in Solaara.

People give Cliopher odd looks in the halls. Cliopher returns them.

He keeps noticing details he’s never lingered over – the small patterns carved into the walls, the rippling shades of a painting, someone’s hair. When he catches himself wistfully longing to see Prince Rufus’ vibrant orange-auburn hair, he decides he is not being reasonable and perhaps his lord was correct to remove him from work for a few days.

First, though, he has a few loose-ends to tie up. He’ll speak with Kiri to ensure his meetings are handled – he’ll need to postpone some business with -

“Lord Mdang!”

Cliopher pauses at the call of a robust voice. His secretaries halt, too; they all turn.

Cliopher doesn’t recognize the guardsman that approaches. He’s wearing no particular sigil. “Yes?”

The huge man halts. He looks long and hard at Cliopher. “You can see?”

Cliopher wonders whether they should indeed make a memo on his restored sight. But the initial announcement did indicate it would come and go. “For the moment.”

The man continues to look at him. He might be related to one of the Mgunai vassals, now that Cliopher looks at him.

“...did you have a question?” Cliopher asks. “We're on our way to a meeting.”

The man jolts. “It will wait,” he snaps, and spins on heel to stalk away.

Well, alright. Cliopher shrugs at the looks his secretaries give him and keeps walking.

Cliopher hasn’t exactly been a shut-in lately, but he hasn’t ventured much into Solaara. The new capital of Zunidh is a crowded place, and the few times he ventured out he felt awkward about clinging so tightly to Rhodin or Conju or whoever he was accompanying.

He’s still staying close; Ludvic sought Cliopher yesterday and warned him not to go anywhere alone just in case his vision disappears again. It’s a fair concern, though Cliopher thinks wistfully of the Liaau…

“You know we’d be happy to bring you down here any time,” Conju murmurs as Cliopher browses. It’s just the two of them. Conju’s clutching a tiny bag that clinks when he walks; he’s always good at spotting little treasures.

“To an antique shop?” Cliopher questions. “Browsing isn’t ideal when you can’t see.”

“You know what I mean,” Conju says. “And your assistants, too. That owner at the bakery nearly cried to see you.”

“I tip very well,” Cliopher replies, tone dry to cover his blush.

It’s true that he’s missed stopping into town for morning pastries and coffee, or wandering around the public fountains where visitors can listen to street-music and smell the latest concoctions from food-vendors. Solaara’s a lively city; Cliopher doesn’t want to remain distant from it.

But it never feels spontaneous anymore.

Conju gives him a dubious look, but fortunately drops the subject. “Anyway, there’s an art exhibit I thought you might like. I meant to see it last weekend with Fabian – did I tell you what happened with Fabian? He tried to bribe me!”

“Wasn’t he having money issues?”

“Exactly! I mean, people are always trying to bribe me, but I’m offended he’d think I could be bought so cheap.”

“Maybe he thought love would give him a discount,” Cliopher suggests.

Conju scoffs. “Love. Ha! I was barely tolerating him. The sex wasn’t even that good.”

Cliopher offers him the last pastry as consolation.

The art exhibit is interesting – the featured painter is from Alinor. Any mention of that world always makes Cliopher think wistfully of Basil. Many places on Alinor became strange after the Fall, twisted by magic. He and Conju make a game of deciding whether the more fantastical images are the products of a strong imagination, or perhaps based on real creatures and experiences.

With a pang Cliopher realizes that he’ll probably never go to Alinor. Now that time’s stabilized he’s entertained vague thoughts… It would be difficult, given the rarely-opening portals, but plausible.

Even if Basil’s alive, Cliopher may never see him again. He blinks back tears.

“Oh, my dear,” says Conju, noticing. He loops an arm around Cliopher and kisses his cheek, misinterpreting his dismay. “I know you’ll miss this. But at least find a better painting to cry in front of, this one’s utterly wretched.”

Cliopher’s waffling about the Liaau is interrupted when Varro and Pikabe ask him to go camping.

They aren’t his ideal partners for such a venture, and he’s not foolish enough to ignore the fact they’ve probably been pressed to extend an invitation. The fact they seem to take shifts sticking next to him at the Reserve strengthens this certainty.

Because of course he accepts. It’s lovely to walk through the grass in bare feet, to climb, to start a fire with his own hands and roast vegetables under the starlight.

Cliopher knows he will miss the stars.

Honestly, Cliopher’s tired by the week’s end. But Rhodin arrives unexpectedly to badger him into attending a large specialty shop that’s opened on the far end of the city.

“I’ve heard they have a big section on the Vangavaye-ve,” he coaxes. “And if it’s horribly racist we can go to the museum instead.”

He says this because every time they’ve gone to look at Islander-inspired shops, they’re almost assured to offend Cliopher’s sensibilities. He still grimaces when he thinks about the kitschy little place with ‘grass-skirts’ made of colored yarn, and mock-efela formed from pieces of artificial glass. They didn’t even label them ‘efela,’ just ‘authentic Islander necklaces!’

Conju penned a scathing review to the Csiven flier, and the shop was so poorly-managed it went under within six months. But Cliopher still hates thinking about it.

“What a wonderful way to spend an evening,” he tells Rhodin. “I get enough people misinterpreting the islands on the Council, you know. Last month Oriana forgot how many islands she rules.”

“You love correcting idiots,” Rhodin says. “I’m giving you a new selection of potential idiots. Come on, it’s worth a try.”

So Cliopher goes, mostly from morbid curiosity.

It’s not perfect, but certainly better than most shops that claim to be selling authentic products. There’s no efela except a few cheap ones, the sort made of shattered shells and cheap string. They’re often gifted to kids, or traded between childhood friends, and don’t signify any special status; it at least doesn’t offend Cliopher’s sensibilities to imagine velioi wearing them. Though they’re terribly overpriced.

There aren’t any skirts – there’s a lot of artwork with shells, and a lovely, fairly accurate rendition of the Bay of Waters (though not entirely accurate, but he can forgive the artist for not-quite matching the color of the waters for the time of day in the painting). He’s surprised and pleased to find a few food-brands from back home. Nothing fresh, but there’s spices he hasn’t seen in awhile.

Cliopher wonders if his cousin Quintus supplies this shop at any leg of the supply chain; there aren’t many ships that go all the way to the Vangavaye-ve. “Oh, powdered coconut,” he muses. “Alright, Rhodin, all else aside I’m glad to know this exists for the food.”

“Ha! Told you.”

He purchases a number of dry supplies; Cliopher didn’t oftenget an opportunity to cook even before his blindness, but these days his staff make most meals.

Because he has staff, now. That’s still strange.

Oh, well. Franzel’s always harassing him about his preferences. Maybe he’ll be satisfied when Cliopher suggests experimenting with these.

The owner at the front double-takes halfway through the sale. “Ah! Is that an efela? Who are you, then?”

Automatically Cliopher responds with the proper answer. “I am Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa. My island is Loaloa. My dance is Aōteketētana.”

Sometimes people in Solaara get off-put by this introduction; the man looks ecstatic. “I haven’t met many islanders in Solaara – I’m not, myself,” he adds. “This shop was my late wife’s idea, but, well…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Cliopher as Rhodin strolls over.

“I only visited a few times, but it’s a lovely place.”

“Who was her family?”

“She was a Varga before we married.”

“Oh, my father was a Varga,” Cliopher says, pleased.

“I swear every islander I’ve ever met is one of your cousins,” Rhodin mutters.

“That doesn’t guarantee we’re related,” Cliopher argues. Not within the fourth-degree, anyway; the founding families are spread everywhere on the islands.

But then Sayo Doran tells Cliopher the names of her parents, and he pauses. “...Alright, I think we’d have been third cousins,” he concedes. Rhodin snorts.

The owner is again delighted. “Oh, she’d have loved to meet you,” he laments. “She always missed the islands… but her specialty was capturing dangerous pests, you know. Not much call for it there! You remember how the jungles used to be? This shop was meant to be a sort of retirement, once she got too old for hunting…” he sighs.

“How do you get your supplies?” Cliopher asks, which launches the owner into a litany of complaints about the complex supply-chain, and the tariffs… Cliopher makes a mental note of the last, because Sayo Doran mentions being charged multiple mysterious ‘convenience fees’ by the company that liaises with the merchant ships.

“One day I’ll visit the coast myself and try to chat with those captains,” Doran adds. “Not about the business… my wife had some family mementos she wanted to pass on. Too big for the Lights, I’m afraid. They’re not pricey - I think? - but I’m so worried they’ll get lost on that long trip...”

“Oh, I’m heading home by skyship in a few weeks,” says Cliopher cheerfully. “I’d be happy to bring them back, and I think we share a great-aunt who could pass it on...”

The owner thanks them profusely and gifts Cliopher a few more bundles of his spices for free, despite his protests. Rhodin’s shaking with laughter when they leave. “You manage to get yourself entangled in things everywhere you go, Cliopher.”

That seems unfair. “I do not.”

“Are you telling me you aren’t planning to send someone to audit those traders?”

...well. “That’s my job!”

“Is it, though?” Rhodin doesn’t wait for an answer. “Nice thing to do, though. Good thing you have a vacation coming up. Especially, well. Might be easier for you family to adjust, when you can still… and I’m sure you have things you’d like to do.”

Cliopher hesitates. His family haven’t mentioned his blindness, despite all the articles; and he certainly hasn’t told them yet. Some part of him still hopes this recovery will linger, that he can put it off forever…

“Hope it lasts that long,” says Rhodin, oblivious. “I’m sure you want to see them again.”

And Cliopher does.

Chapter Text

Cliopher tries to leave his cane behind when he packs. He’s relieved Conju doesn’t comment on his single bag as they walk to the skyship; this lack of fretting is explained when Ludvic meets them at the top of the tower.

He’s holding a new cane. It’s far longer than the other, and in a single glance Cliopher can tell it took long hours of carving under an expert hand.

“I carved it – your original was more like a walking cane,” Ludvic admits. “I’ve watched how you use it and I think this will work better.”

Cliopher agrees – it’s thinner and lighter, while the reach will help since he mostly uses it to prod around on the floor. “This is beautiful, Ludvic.” It’s carved intricately with seashells and fish all along the side, interspersed with twining vines. No, seaweed. The base has patterns and designs that remind him faintly of the Mdang patterns – not quite his family patterns, but clearly inspired by them, and reminiscent enough to be identifiable for any Islander. Perhaps he used the Atlas as inspiration; did he realize the man in the picture was a relative? Conju must have told him.

The head of the cane is a curved seahorse, but it’s still comfortable under his hand. Peering closer, Cliopher can also see tiny bees trundling through the vines. That doesn’t seem thematic, though they’re lovely. His Radiancy must have given permission; Ludvic wouldn’t have dared, otherwise. “My family were all woodcarvers back home.” Ludvic does not talk about his childhood. “There’s still a sun on the side.”

Cliopher shifts the cane to examine it. “...the one that lets me electrocute people?”

“Yes. His Radiancy enchanted this one, too.”

But why??

Conju hates the skyships, so Cliopher appreciates his company for more than one reason. Conju practically invited himself, but from his Radiancy’s gentle hints it was probably schemed by both of them.

“What if you need help?” he practically pleaded, and Cliopher gave in.

He won’t need help, Cliopher promises himself. There’s no reason to think his blindness will return across the ocean, so far from his Radiancy’s magic and the taboos. Conju’s accompanied him home before; he likes the islands. So this is just a joint vacation with his friend. That’s fine. His family adores Conju, even if Cliopher has to field a dozen hints about marriage every time he comes along.

He would say that it’s nice to have company on the voyage; but Conju mostly hides in his cabin and pretends he’s not perilously high in the air. Cliopher tries to distract him awhile, but eventually wanders outside and strolls beside the railing to peer out below them.

He’s always loved the skyships. Cliopher’s sailed on them hundreds of times, and he still likes to admire the winding threads of rivers below them, the patterned squares of cultivated land like little patches of cloth.

Cliopher stares out, trying to remember this, the curls of cloud like foam on the sea. He should sleep outside a few nights once he gets home and look at the stars, he decides.

Captain Diogen comes to stand with him. “Lord Mdang. How are you feeling?”

Some people have been talking to Cliopher like he’s sick or ill, with a note of pity; Cliopher doesn’t like it. “I don’t get a chance to sail much, but I’m still not prone to seasickness,” he says, ignoring Diogen’s grimace. ‘Seasick’ isn’t the right word, but the skyship sailors still tend to use the old parlance. “And I’m glad for Conju’s sake this trip’s been smooth so far.”

“Please let Lord Conju know the cooks can send some blander foods if it would help his stomach.” A beat. “Would you like to take dinner with us, Lord Mdang? We thought it might be nice to dine on the deck.”

It’s a bit chill for that. Captain Diogen looks over the side with him, at the white pillowy clouds rolling below.

“Yes,” says Cliopher, blinking rapidly as he watches the landscape slide past under them. “Thank you, Captain, I would enjoy that.”

“Hey, Kip!” Cousin Tya says as they step into the Spire. “Been awhile since you visited! And you’re Conju, right?”

Conju gives her a remarkably friendly smile for such an informal greeting – though, Cliopher reflects, maybe he’s accustomed to Mdang manners by now. Or maybe he’s just relieved to get off the ship. “Hello, Tya,” Cliopher says. He pauses to hug her, then hands over a thick packet. “Can you send these back to Solaara?”

“What, already? You just got here! You need to work less.”

“That’s why I came along – he needs someone reminding him to relax,” Conju drawls. He’s clinging to Cliopher’s side, probably still nauseous from the flight.

Tya grins, though Cliopher isn’t sure how much his friend is joking. “Sounds good. Let me walk you down, Kip, they’ve been doing some construction so half the halls are closed.”

As they descend Tya explains that Oriana – or, rather, one of her slightly-more-industrious fellows – has ordered some purely cosmetic additions to the Spire. “Guess we weren’t pretty enough for her fancy cousins,” Tya snorts.

“Stairs,” Conju absently warns as they come upon the first set; then he flushes.

Cousin Tya sends him a bemused glance. “They’ve just been repainted,” she says kindly. Apparently interpreting this as some spontaneous architectural interest, she launches into a description of the planned changes.

Conju is visibly flustered by the time they escape the Spire. “Sorry. Habit, I suppose.”

“I appreciate it, Conju. You’ve all – well, you’ve made this much easier than it could have been.”

Conju sniffs. Despite how often he reproves Cliopher for not sharing his thoughts, or asking for help, he’s easily embarrassed by earnest emotion. Conju quickens his pace. “We’re at the Dolphin, you said? The one your cousin works at?”

It turns out this is outdated information; Cliopher’s delighted to find that his cousin Maius is now the owner of the Dolphin, which merits a delay for congratulations and general smalltalk before they head to their rooms.

“Your family is all very kind,” Conju tells them as they settle into the suite, “but it would be tiresome to run into people who want to chat all the time!”

“In fairness it would be less overwhelming if I lived here; there wouldn’t be a year of things to catch up on,” Cliopher acknowledges. He glances around. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually used a hotel here.” He’s always found someone’s couch, even when he fought with his mother and didn’t want to go home. He could wander into half the houses in Gorjo city and find welcome for a night or two.

“Do you want to stay with family?”

“I – well – no,” Cliopher admits. He wants to see his family; but he wants privacy, too. “They’ll expect it.”

“Blame me,” says Conju briskly. “I’m an uptight noble who wants a nice hotel and wait-staff. And it would be horribly rude to leave me alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Goodness, Cliopher, yes. I’m here to help you. If that means annoying your family a little then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I never want you to feel obligated - “

“First of all, I honestly would prefer a hotel. And while this is a nice job, I am still very much working,” Conju points out. “Our lord sent me here in case you need assistance, not as my own vacation.”

“I would still prefer if you try to enjoy your time here.”

“You know I’m perfectly happy to help you either way, Cliopher; but is it really so strange? I take care of you all the time in the offices,” which is true. Conju serves meals and fetches coffee during long meetings, cleans away ink-spills, summons pages to take messages when Cliopher writes too fast to leave his seat. And recently he helped Cliopher when he was left suddenly unable to see. “Really, I thought we were over this. Why is it so hard for you to accept help?”

Cliopher rubs his face. “Partially because you are my friend. And partially because I do not want to explain to my family why I suddenly need an attendant.”

Flatly, Conju realizes, “You haven’t told them.”

“No.”

“But why?”

“It is not an easy thing to explain. And I do not want to worry them unnecessarily… what good does it do them to know? We’re not sure yet if it’s going to be permanent.”

“That’s absurd. Don’t you want to talk about it? If your sister were deathly sick, would you be happy if she just never mentioned it to you?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t see a difference.”

“I’m not sick, or dying, just - “ Cliopher waves a hand.

He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s embarrassing. That his family will have questions… they’ll want to know how he manages, if he’s coming home. When he’s coming home. They’ll pry about how he lives day-to-day.

Cliopher’s been getting better at navigating the Palace blind. His lord, Conju, Kiri, everyone – they all assure him that his input is invaluable as an advisor, that he deserves his position even on the days he’s blind. But it’s so, so hard to believe them when he can’t walk the more crowded corridors without someone steering him along. He feels so frustratingly helpless.

It’s not Conju’s fault, or Franzel’s, or his guards. They’ve all been wonderful. Cliopher just doesn’t know how much he trusts his old friends to be objective.

He never wants to be a burden.

No; he’s not a burden. Cliopher knows he’s still excellent at his job. He has eight centuries of experience, and that’s not easily replaced. But his family always managed to make him feel inadequate, even before. He doesn’t need this new complication, one more unhealed wound for them to pick and pry open.

He wants a normal, simple vacation. He explains this to Conju.

Who says, “You can’t hide it forever.”

“No,” Cliopher agrees. “But I want to adjust to it properly before handling their responses.”

A sigh; Cliopher knows he’s won. “Fine. Fine! But they will not be happy when they learn you’ve been lying, Cliopher; I hope you will at least start planning for that.”

By the time Cliopher’s finished in the washroom he exits to find that Conju’s rearranged the suite’s furniture. It’s a good thing the suite is large; he’s pushed all the chairs against various walls, the table squared away in a corner. It leaves the center of the room bare.

Just in case his sight leaves again; it’s always easier to navigate new spaces with the walls. “Thank you,” he says uncomfortably.

Conju waves a dismissive hand. “I need to clean up; do you know a good place to eat?”

Cliopher’s pretty sure they’ll end up invited to someone’s dinner as soon as they step outside, so he nods. Conju sweeps into the washroom.

Cliopher’s wrong, it turns out; Conju still hasn’t returned when Cousin Melo knocks at the door, gushes over Cliopher’s clothes, and pushily insists he come over for a meal. “Mussels and scallops! A good treat for your velioi friend,” he says. Cliopher’s happy to accept.

“But how did you know we were here?” Cliopher asks. “We only just checked in.”

“Maius told me, of course!”

And probably everyone else. “Oh, no,” Cliopher sighs. “I haven’t seen Mama yet…”

“Ha! Wondered about that. You warned her you’ll be staying at the hotel?”

“Well…”

Melo laughs at him. “Good luck.”

Conju is perfectly happy to forgo restaurants for a quieter dinner – although he makes a bit of a face when they follow Melo home and walk in to the ruckus of his wife, sister, and six children.

He softens considerably when the youngest daughter immediately declares he is ‘the most beautiful person ever’ and demands to know if she can get tattoos like his. “I’m afraid not, dear – they’re unique to my family.” And then Conju is obligated to explain what each symbol means, while little Esa Varga edges closer and closer.

Her mother corrals her into a chair for the meal, which is as excellent as Melo promised. Afterward they pick at a sweet mango sorbet while Esa tries to wheedle Conju into painting her face.

Cliopher finds himself staring at Esa, trying to memorize her features. Melo’s youngest daughter, bundled in a little swaying hammock nearby while they eat, is less than a year old. Cliopher could never know what she looks like, really. In another twenty years he might have young adult cousins he can’t picture at all.

Melo follows his gaze when the meal ends; Esa rushes to help her siblings carry off the stacks of plates. “Your friend’s good with kids, Kip,” he teases. “You two ever think about adopting?”

“I can’t imagine having enough time for a family,” says Cliopher ruefully. And Conju’s just as busy.

Conju clears his throat. “You have a lovely family, though. I’m surprised your youngest hasn’t woken up.”

“I know, right? None of the others slept like this…”

Melo is happy to brag about his new baby’s many accomplishments (such as ‘sitting up’ and ‘smiling’). Cliopher’s starting to feel the fatigue of the trip, but when Conju starts delicately hinting at a departure, Melo doesn’t notice.

Of course he doesn’t; people aren’t subtle here. “Thank you for the meal, Melo. It’s wonderful to see you again. But we really should head back.”

“Oh, sure! Better get back to your hotel – must be a relief to be alone this time, eh, Kip?” Melo laughs and waves them to the door.

The warmth of these islands is always a welcome thing. Cliopher smiles as they step outside, appreciating the stars overhead. “A relief,” Cliopher quotes as they walk back. “Hmm. I hope my Mama doesn’t think I’m trying to stay away from her, too.”

“Of course she won’t. Is that how you interpreted that conversation?”

“What?”

Conju spares him a withering glance. “Cliopher. They think we got a room to fuck.”

“...Oh,” says Cliopher. He mentally reviews the conversations tonight, then blushes. That makes sense.

Conju heaves a sigh. “Sometimes I wonder how you survive the court,” he says. Sometimes Cliopher does, too.

Cliopher is both disappointed and relieved to learn the next day that his mother’s out visiting relatives, and won’t be home until evening. It will – probably – save him a scolding for not visiting at once. Though she’ll still be cross he didn’t warn he was coming.

Even better, Cliopher bumps into Quintus not far from the Dolphin, who is delighted to see both Conju and Cliopher. They’re rarely on the island at the same time, so that’s a welcome surprise.

Conju spent a lot of time chatting with Quintus on his last visit. He also, notably, did not spend every night in his own room. Cliopher has refrained from asking who he spent that time with, but he has suspicions.

So when Quintus suggests showing off some fabrics he purchased for trade in the Emerald Isles, Cliopher is ready to excuse himself. Conju throws him a sharp look. “We’d be happy to see them,” he says. “Cliopher mentioned wanting to see your ship, anyway.”

Which is true, though Cliopher mentioned it years ago; he’s surprised Conju remembered.

Then he registers Conju’s expression. Ah; right. He’s here in case Cliopher needs help. Of course he won’t leave. Conju takes his duties seriously. However unnecessary they sometimes seem.

To his credit Quintus is happy to show his cousin around, too. And even Cliopher’s intrigued by the odd silk made in the Emerald City. “A new process – they’ve been experimenting with different foods for the silkworms,” Quintus explains. Conju practically vibrates with questions, most of which Quintus sheepishly admits he can’t answer.

They have a late lunch with Quintus before he offers to walk with them to the Mdang house. “You’ll be staying there, right? Unless there’s not enough room?” he makes pointed eyebrows at Conju, disappointed when the groom ignores him.

“We’re at the Dolphin,” Cliopher says. Quintus leans back, eyeing him thoughtfully. “But I should probably head over to tell them before they start making up a room…” They’ll have heard he’s home by now.

Quintus grins. “Good luck with that, Kip. Oh, Have you seen Tia’s new house?”

Cliopher has not. They walk the long way around to take a look.

They halt across the lagoon from the Mdang house, which like much of Gorjo city sits on supports to float above the water. The water between is clear with only the slightest tint of green, and beyond he can see the beach and the ocean, surging endless on the horizon.

“Doesn’t look like she’s home. Oh, well. She imported these stones from the Azilint, see?” Quintus is explaining. Conju makes polite noises of interest as they inspect the house.

But Cliopher isn’t listening. He’s walked up to his old family home ten thousand times. But it’s lovely from this angle, like the backdrop to a painting. He looks up at the sky, where the stars are already visible in the fading purple-scarlet light. He can see his star, the one that sits above Loaloa.

It really is beautiful.

Cliopher sits on the ground and bursts into tears.

The conversation behind him breaks off. Quintus is more than a little alarmed by this breakdown. Conju isn’t, and probably discerns at least some of the cause. He sits down next to Cliopher and winds their arms together. “You can stop gawking or leave,” he tells Quintus, withering, who scrambles to sit on Cliopher’s other side.

But he flounders over what to do. As Cliopher regains control of himself he asks, “Are you… okay, Kip? Did something happen?”

“No,” says Cliopher. “The stars are nice.”

“...Okay,” says Quintus, eyeing him like Cliopher’s going to bite.

But he doesn’t press. Cliopher’s glad. He doesn’t want to explain everything like this, his throat clogged and voice wobbling. “You’re going to ruin your clothes,” he tells Conju with a sniff.

“Do you think I brought my best clothes here? I planned for them to get ruined,” says Conju. He pats Cliopher’s arm.

So Cliopher keeps watching the stars.

He wants to remember this – not necessarily this moment, but the glimmer of the ocean under the clear sky, and the twilit color of the sea. He’s glad he got to see it again, and the Bay of Waters.

If it were just Conju here he would linger; Quintus looks rattled, though. He scrubs his face and leaps to his feet. “Right. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure,” Quintus starts. But Conju just winds his arm through Cliopher’s, pats Quintus briskly on the shoulder, and steps around him in the direction of the Mdang house. Quintus scrambles to follow.

By the time they reach the busy house Cliopher has composed himself and brushed away all signs of tears. He greets his mother with a cheerful kiss on the cheek, and then goes around greeting all the other relatives he hasn’t seen yet. Quintus sidles in behind Conju and drifts across the room, flinging Kip spooked glances. Well; he’ll forget what happened soon enough. Cliopher’s family never pry into his feelings.

“It’s so nice to have you back, Conju!” says Eidora with a warmth she didn’t hold for Cliopher. Cliopher is convinced sometimes that his mother likes Conju more than him. “How long will you both be here?”

“Oh, a full month.”

“Lovely! You really must accompany me next week, a new little salon has opened up downtown.”

“Oh, I’d love - “ Conju falters. “Well! Maybe. I’ll have to see about our plans.”

Cliopher’s a little puzzled. Then he remembers, right; Conju is technically here to escort him. “Perhaps we could go together.”

Conju shoots him a rueful glance, but doesn’t argue. Eidora Mdang beams.

The actual dinner is something of a chaotic affair. His family isn’t formal about meals – it would be impossible, anyway, with people often dipping in and out of the house. Food is set up on long tables and self-served, and everyone sits at random available seats and tables, chatting over games or newspapers or sometimes huddled away in a corner to read. But everyone wants to catch up with Cliopher, so he ends up ensconced at the largest table with Conju as everyone chatters.

“Barely had any letters from you lately,” Uncle Cliopher observes. “Must be busy in that city.”

“Things have been eventful.”

“And what nice clothing,” Vinyë observes. “Is this a new uniform, Kip?”

“Oh.” Cliopher blinks, ignoring Conju’s incredulous glare. Has he…? Surely he mentioned that. “No. I don’t have a uniform anymore. My lord has a new secretary.”

Conju sighs.

“What?” Vinyë straightens. “Oh, no! What happened?”

“He means to say he was promoted,” Conju sniffs. “Honestly, Cliopher, isn’t your job all about communication? He’s heading the entire Service, and he should have been promoted ages ago anyway. He still works closely with our lord, of course.”

“Not every day,” Cliopher regrets.

“Most days. You’ll live.”

Through the sudden quiet Cliopher realizes this back-and-forth has attracted a lot of attention; the entire table is listening. Cliopher leans back, quickly stabbing a piece of fish. He doesn’t mean to brag; his Mama, especially, hates that. They’ll just laugh if he starts talking about velioi titles.

He’s about to try changing the subject when Vinyë asks, “But how do you go from secretary to heading a department?”

Cliopher frowns. “What do you mean?”

“That just seems like a big jump!”

“It’s barely a change at all, really,” Conju says. “He already led the department. He just kept wriggling out of an official title. Also he didn’t want to stop being our lord’s actual secretary.”

“Titles create the illusion of distance,” Cliopher argues. “It’s already become more difficult to actually talk with people. I tried to stop by the Ministry of Education last week and they insisted on making me wait for a supervisor. I wasn’t even there officially!” He’d just heard someone was visiting a University on Alinor, and wanted to ask if they’d carry a letter for him.

“You just hate that you can’t trick people into thinking it’s safe to gossip around you. Though I do appreciate when you’re sneaky, Cliopher.” To his family Conju expands, “Our lord has been trying to give him a proper title ever since Cliopher took over for the Master of Offices. And then refused to be called ‘Master of Offices.’”

“The department has an entirely different structure, we just don’t use the title anymore.”

“You don’t use that title because you restructured the office to get rid of it! And I still think ‘Secretary in Chief’ was a silly address.”

Cliopher maintains, “So now we don’t use it. The last person with that title was atrociously corrupt, anyway. I didn’t want the association.”

Uncle Cliopher interrupts, “So how many people work under you now?”

Cliopher blinks again, startled. “Oh, well. The same amount as before.”

“Half a million or so,” says Conju blandly. “This soup is lovely, Eidora.”

Gaudy demands, “Half a million?”

“If we’re counting all of Zunidh, I suppose,” Cliopher says. “The immediate office I actually work with only has about fifty.”

“And who do you report to?” Quintus asks, slow, like he’s working something out.

“Still my lord, of course.”

Quintus looks like he’s about to ask something else, but just then the door flies open. Cousin Eva bursts inside, waving something in the air; a bundle of wet fabric. “That idiot Dottie Kindraa spilled an entire bowl of ink on my new dress! Ugh!”

Cliopher leans back and listens to the appalled clamor this produces. He expects Conju will be eager to get involved in a conversation about reviving ruined fabrics, but when he turns Cliopher finds the groom sitting with his arms crossed, exasperated.

Cliopher asks, “What?” and Conju just rolls his eyes.

All in all, it’s a nice night. Meals at the Mdang house tend to be a bit haphazard, and this isn’t any sort of family event, despite Cliopher’s rare appearance. So soon enough everyone’s wandering around with their own plates, slumping into couches or sipping at rum over boardgames. Conju isn’t a fan of this sort of disarray, so he and Cliopher end up in a small corner with Vinyë, Gaudy, and Leona.

Cliopher’s just glad his mother’s chosen distance over open disapproval. She’ll thaw within a few days – she always does. At least she’s been pleasant toward Conju.

And he’s missed Vinyë, anyway.

“You should meet Hugon while you’re both here,” she tells him. “And we’re having a performance in two days if you need anything to do! Do you play any instruments, Conju?”

“Oh, I learned the violin myself, as a matter of fact. Well, I say learned; I know how to do some scales. I doubt I remember anything else. I was never terribly fond of it.”

But Vinyë’s delighted. She spends awhile trying to cajole him into playing with her, until at last Conju concedes he would not mind trying out a simple song. But not tonight, thank you!

“And maybe we can finally convince Cliopher to play,” Vinyë adds. “Did you even bring your oboe?”

“No,” he admits.

“But why not? I think this is a sign you need a new instrument.”

Vinyë tries to convince him to buy a new instrument every time he’s home. “My oboe’s fine.”

“Well you don’t seem to like it enough to bring it here,” she points out. “Or, ooh, we could get you one to keep here and one for Solaara. Then you won’t have any excuses!”

“I need multiple instruments now?”

Cliopher keeps up a doubtful expression as Vinyë tries to pitch the merits of this approach (“I just got a new violin, actually – no, my old one’s fine, that’s not the point - “) and Conju finally wanders away to peer and cluck at the ruined clothes with some aunts.

Cliopher relaxes into the company. Court can be boisterous, too – but at the Palace of Stars any formal event is a stage. Cliopher has to be careful with every word he speaks, every gesture he makes. Whether he talks too long with one person, or brushes off another, eats a gluttonous amount or insultingly little – it’s exhausting.

And… well, his family will judge him, too. But their opinions are set and immutable; and the worst response he might elicit is a disapproving-tongue click and a snippy, really, Kip?

Which isn’t much different from how Conju shows exasperation, Cliopher muses. Vinyë tells him about their new music – apparently Cousin Orlo is trying his hand at composing, with unexpected success.

And then, between one instant and the next -

Cliopher didn’t really expect his blindness to return on this trip. It usually happens around his Radiancy; by this point it’s clearly caused by the taboos. And his vision has been back for weeks.

But one second he’s looking at Vinyë’s teasing smile, and the next, it’s like all light has been snuffed from the room. Cliopher manages to stifle any outward reaction. “Gaudy,” he says, not moving his head, “Could you fetch Conju for me, please?”

“Huh? Uh – sure.” A chair squeaks.

“Kip?” Vinyë, now a little concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s fine,” says Cliopher. He moves his hand, thinking to drink some more rum; he lowers it immediately. Groping for his cup would be noticeable. Although maybe he’d just look drunk. “Weren’t you saying earlier that Hugon plays the trumpet? It seems like an odd choice to bring him on.” The Gorjo City orchestra, to his recollection, didn’t emphasize brass instruments.

“Oh, we’ve been trying out some new pieces from the mainland...”

Cliopher manages to successfully distract Vinyë with questions about her new paramour. After a few minutes Gaudy must return. Conju’s dismayed voice surfaces from the background of the party. “Oh, Cliopher, did it happen again?”

“Yes. Excuse me, Vinyë.” He carefully maneuvers around the table.

Conju clicks his tongue. “And it’s so crowded… here, get up, I’ll stay on your right side. We’ll move along the wall. Good, I’m going to touch your arm - “

Cliopher hears a confused, “Kip?” but traces along Conju’s arm to hook a hand through his elbow.

“Good, thank you. It was a lovely night, Saya Vawen, please let your mother know we enjoyed the dinner.”

“Hey, Kip,” says someone. “Are you feeling alright?”

Cliopher isn’t sure who that is. “He’s fine,” says Conju, clipped. “Out of the way, please.”

“Do you want to sit down?” the presumably-a-relation asks, ignoring Conju. “You look a little - “

“We’re leaving,” says Conju. “Excuse us.”

The Palace was never so crowded. Cliopher wishes he could tell whether the person moves. Everything is so loud that it’s impossible to identify individual sounds; they all blur together. He jolts when someone touches his shoulder from behind.

“Kip, are you okay?” Vinyë asks. “You’re walking so strange!”

“We just need to get outside,” Conju insists. “Now.”

“But - “

She stops; Cliopher doesn’t know why. Conju starts walking again, so Cliopher follows.

Eventually Conju mutters a warning for stairs, and they step outside. The chatter muffles immediately. “Are you alright?”

“Yes – well. I can’t see.”

“You’re shaking, Cliopher.”

Is he? Well, Conju would know. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Cliopher can’t answer that. Conju continues, “You can slow down; there’s no need to rush.”

Except there is, because the last thing Cliopher wants is to stumble across any relatives in this state. “Let’s just get back to the hotel.”

“It’s never lasted less than a week,” says Conju, not unkindly. Cliopher keeps walking. After a minute Conju sighs, but makes no further protest.

His sight does not, of course, return by the night’s end.

And that’s – fine. Cliopher hoped to have a little more time, to see more of his islands, but…

He did get to see the Bay of Waters, and the stars, and his childhood home. That’s all he wanted, really. Cliopher knows he may not see them again.

Conju is more prepared. He immediately finds the cane Ludvic pressed upon him and puts it by the door (he tells Cliopher this, who must take his word). He lays out glasses along one of the tabletops, and tells Cliopher where the drinks are, and snacks in the cabinets, and then describes the layout of the room in case he forgot. He asks Cliopher if he needs help sorting his clothes; Cliopher declines.

His new costumier, Feonie, sensibly hit upon the notion of giving Cliopher many slightly-varying outfits that can easily be matched together. She’s sewn little raised patterns into the top of all his clothes, and he can be confident of creating reasonable outfits if he just pairs identical ones.

So there’s not really anything to do about the situation. Cliopher finds himself wishing he did bring his oboe, because he doesn’t have any assistants to read him reports, either.

Conju finally tells him to go to bed. “Quit fretting,” he says. “We’ll make a plan in the morning.”

Cliopher hears the soft murmur of conversation when he wakes. He considers joining Conju and whoever he’s speaking with. Instead he goes to puzzle out the unfamiliar bathroom.

By the time he’s dressed and ready to meet the day the visitor is gone. “Who was here earlier?” he asks, hearing Conju moving around in the shared area.

“Your cousin Maius,” Conju offers. “He heard you might be sick, and wanted to know if we needed a doctor. Rhodin would envy the speed of your family gossip-network.”

Cliopher sighs. There’s no avoiding it, then.

This isn’t how he planned to do things, but…

Well. Cliopher should be honest with himself; he didn’t plan to say anything about his blindness. Not unless his family did first.

Really, doesn’t a single one of them read the Csiven Flier?

So they set out in the morning. Cliopher has his arm wrapped through Conju’s, and the new cane Ludvic gave him, which is light but sturdy in his hand. As they step out into Gorjo city it occurs to him that he should have spent the previous night trying to memorize distances. The steps from the hotel to the end of the street, to the curve around the bookstore, past the marina and the docks and the ahalo-warehouses -

But Cliopher finds, as they walk, that he can largely imagine where they are even without his eyes. Every stone of Gorjo city is emblazoned in his memory. He smells the drifting odor of raw fish and knows they’re downwind from the huge pit on the beach where fishers bring their catch. A little farther on, and a sweeter scent washes in; his Cousin Sernin’s bakery. The rhythmic clack of needles tells him when they’re passing Aunt Leonora’s house; she always sits out front to knit in the mornings before she works, and likes to hail down passerby to chat.

“Good morning, Kip! What a fancy stick. Did you hurt yourself?” she calls.

“I’m fine, Auntie,” he says without turning his head. Conju’s feet falter; Cliopher keeps walking.

He shouldn’t be doing it like this.

But how was he meant to spread the news? There was an Imperial Proclamation when he ascended to Lord Chancellor. Cliopher can’t conceive of an easier way to spread information through a province – and it’s part of his job to disperse news through Zunidh. Was he really meant to write hundreds of individual letters?

Apparently.

“Everything alright, Kip?” someone asks. A masculine voice, older, concerned. An image of Galenius Mdang pops into his head.

“I’m fine, Uncle,” says Cliopher as they walk past.

But, “I don’t think that was a Mdang,” Conju mutters in his ear as they walk on. “He looked confused.”

Sure. Fine. In a town full of his relatives, that was someone else. Cliopher sighs.

They eventually step off the main city road, crossing around to the path that leads to the Mdang family-home overlooking the lagoon. Cliopher can feel the change beneath his feet. He uses his cane less, faintly annoyed. “It’s going to get so muddy,” he mutters, hovering it over the ground.

“His Radiancy put some preservation enchantments over it,” Conju says. Which, coming from the Lord Magus, probably means Cliopher could submerge it in the ocean for a year and have it come out unweathered. That’s reassuring.

He hears the distant rise and fall of voices as they approach the house. “Stairs,” Conju murmurs. But Cliopher knows this path by heart, even blind. They ascend the steps and knock.

He hears a cry of That’s Kip! from inside; no one else ever knocks. The door flings open with an audible scrape and creak. They really need to get that replaced.

“Oh, there you are.” That’s Vinyë’s voice. Cliopher stiffens as she wraps her arms around him. “We were worried when you disappeared. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Vinyë. But I need to talk with you – with all of you.”

“Oh. Alright?”

He walks inside with Conju. “There are eleven people,” his friend says briskly. He steps ahead of Cliopher, pulling him along more carefully in the closed space. “Including your mother, nephew and niece. Here’s a chair.” He guides Cliopher’s hand to the seat’s backing.

Vinyë asks, “Kip?”

Cliopher settles carefully into the seat. Conju sits on one side; he’s not sure who’s on his left, though he can hear someone shifting. “I was hoping I’d have a little longer to explain,” he admits wearily. Cliopher accustomed to being the focus of attention, to having people listen when he speaks. But his skin prickles now. His mother is not usually among his judgmental audiences. “I’ve been affected by some magic that had… permanent effects on my health.”

“You were fine last night,” Quintus protests. “I mean…” he trails off. Cliopher remembers his embarrassing breakdown under the stars.

This is an uncomfortable reminder he might not see those stars again. He takes a breath. “It was a magical accident. It’s been coming and going.”

“What kind of magic?” that’s his mother’s voice, terse and almost-angry. “What are you talking about, Kip?”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” Arguably. It’s well-accepted in Solaara that the taboos affected him, even if it can’t be proven; he doesn’t need to distract his family with talk of schooled magic. “I’ve been blind, at irregular intervals. My sight returned for a few weeks, but last night I stopped being able to see again.”

A pause.

Then there’s a clamor, from multiple directions; Cliopher startles when Uncle Cliopher asks, “How long does it last?”

Aunt Sove’a - why is she even on Tahivoa? – asks, “How long ago did this start?”

And Mama bursts, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

The table hushes.

Cliopher clenches his cane. His fingers rub over the twisting patterns. He wonders if, like with the puzzle-block, Ludvic knew they’d comfort him. “It made the front page of the papers,” he says dully. “And there was an Imperial Pronouncement about my promotion… I assumed you’d see that, at least.”

“And you didn’t think we might want to hear about it from you?” someone asks.

Given his family’s usual lack of interest – “I didn’t really know how to bring it up,” he confesses.

Then Eidora asks, “So you’re staying, then?”

Conju’s soft fingers squeeze his arm. Cliopher’s taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Are you staying here? Or do they think they’ll find a cure?”

“...we’re assuming the effects will become permanent, eventually,” Cliopher starts. He hears Vinyë gasp. “My lord has adjusted my duties to compensate.”

“To compensate?”

“Yes. I told you I’m not his secretary anymore. But I don’t intend to come home yet.”

There’s a long silence. Shuffling. His mama says, “But you could be here.”

Yes. And Cliopher does want to be home, but -

But he’s not ready. For many reasons. Even if it weren’t for his work in Solaara – for his friends there, and his lord – Cliopher still senses it would be wrong to return now, like this.

He has servants in Solaara. That’s true. He also has important work, and a duty that he strives to meet each day. He’s starting to adapt his life around his new limits, and learning what he can still do.

Cliopher knows his family mean well. But if he comes home now he’ll be surrounded by coddling aunts and uncles and cousins who want to help him with everything. Gorjo city is full of Mdangs; he’d never have a moment alone. That might be nice when he’s older. But he needs to learn how to live this life for himself first.

Also, “I’m not done yet, Mama.”

“Not done with what? What’s so important?”

“Zunidh,” says Cliopher, bemused. “My lord. The Service. I still have work to do.”

“Always your job! What can you even do like this? Do you really think you’re doing anything important over there?”

Someone makes a hissing sound between their teeth. A high voice scolds, “Eidora!”

Cliopher doesn’t care who it is. “I do,” he says. He thinks of the past few months. The Council sessions, the long days and nights. “I’ll come home one day. When I’m ready. But you’d never let me learn to live on my own, Mama. Coming back right now isn’t what I need. I’m doing well in Solaara. And I have important work.”

“Yes, yes, work for you lord! For Solaara! And what has that city ever done for you?” Eidora demands. It’s like she can’t accept that he does anything useful. That people might need him somewhere else, too, or that it could matter more than himself. “You’ve never been the same since you left.”

“And you have never forgiven me for it,” says Cliopher, deliberately mild to cover his own feelings. “I am aware.”

“You came back to us, once,” she says. “You kept saying you’d stay, you’d stay – and then you left again.”

“Because no one believed I’d stay, and I realized no one wanted it either.”

“How can you say that? What good did it do? It’s been years, Kip, what have you accomplished in that city that you couldn’t have done here with your family after the Fall? You had dreams once.”

“After the Fall,” Cliopher murmurs. And he thinks back to that first, numb return to his islands, after all the typhoons and the misery and the haunting questions. “Do you want to know what I dreamed about after the Fall? I came back and I kept thinking about walking into the ocean, and not coming out. So I don’t think I would have accomplished much without Solaara, actually.”

Conju’s fingers are like pincers, and this time no one says anything. Cliopher turns his head. He tells Conju, “I’d like to go back to the hotel.”

Conju doesn’t say anything for awhile. Perhaps he wants to let Cliopher calm down; perhaps he’s too distressed by Cliopher’s implication to know what to say.

But when he finally talks, halfway back to the Dolphin, he only sounds thoughtful. “Ludvic said, once, that you left the Service for a few years. That was after the Fall?”

“Just after he woke,” says Cliopher. “...or, well. The journey took a few years on my end. I traveled through – a lot of Zunidh.”

“Ah; that makes sense,” says Conju, and squeezes his arm. But he still doesn’t sound shocked, or even particularly concerned.

But of course he doesn’t, Cliopher realizes. Who didn’t want to kill themselves after the Fall?

In Solaara, anyway.

They get back to their rooms. Conju asks, “Do you regret saying it?”

Cliopher thinks of that ringing silence. He wonders what his mother is thinking, and Vinyë and everyone else. He’s never spoken about what he felt after that journey.

No one ever asked.

He says, “I think it needed to be said.”

Chapter Text

“Make sure to warn him if you’re coming up to any stairs, or an obstruction,” says Conju sternly. “And before you halt.”

“Got it,” says Gaudy.

Cliopher presses his lips together.

He knows it makes sense to walk with someone else. Even here, in Gorjo city. Cliopher isn’t in danger from assassins or political rivals – but he might easily wander into a construction area, or stumble onto a pile of herbs left drying outside someone’s house, or...

Anyway. Being escorted everywhere is definitely the worst part of being blind, Cliopher thinks.

But he’s glad to spend time with Gaudy. And to leave the Dolphin. It’s been two days since his revelation at the Mdang house, and they’ve largely stayed inside while letting the gossip-network do its work. Cliopher can tell Conju’s frustrated with him. But he doesn’t want to answer the same prying questions a thousand times over.

Gaudy showed up this morning, breaking the peace with a stubborn insistence that he always joins Kip for ice-cream when he visits. Cliopher pointed out his nephew is a grown man and can get his own ice-cream. Gaudy scoffed, “You don’t stop being my uncle just because you’re blind. Quit hiding.” That stung.

“Come find me if you need anything,” says Conju, and Cliopher hears his delicate pace walking away. He tightens his grip around Gaudy’s arm.

“There’s a new place down by the pier,” says Gaudy with forced cheer. “I’ll show you. That’s a nice cane.”

“My friend Ludvic made it,” says Cliopher. His voice comes out a little distant.

Why does he feel nervous? He’s in Gorjo city. He knows Gorjo city.

But he usually relaxes here. He shouldn’t have to focus on the path under their feet, or strain himself to visualize exactly where they’re walking.

“You wrote about him. He’s a guard, right? You seem to know a lot of guards.”

“My lord has thirty-two guards dedicated to his private apartments.”

“That’s a lot. Are they just ceremonial?”

“They rotate shifts. The ones inside usually have quiet days, but I understand the others are – active.”

Rhodin casually mentioned foiling an abduction-plot the other day. Cliopher has no idea how his friends have time for investigations like that, given how many shifts they spend standing stationary beside the Sun-on-Earth.

They get ice cream at the new shop run by one of their cousin’s velioi husbands. They go out to sit on the verandah.

There’s a beautiful view of the Bay of Waters from here; not that Cliopher can appreciate it anymore. He focuses on eating to ignore the ache in his sternum.

He asks Gaudy some meaningless questions, the sorts of things you have to ask after a long time away. Any new girlfriends or boyfriends? (No.) How are your studies? (Fine.) Working yet? (No.) Do you have plans? (No.) How are your friends? (The same.) Does Gaudy still play the clarinet? (Rarely.)

It’s stilted and awkward, which isn’t normal. Then Gaudy sighs. “You said you wanted to walk into the sea.”

Well. Cliopher wasn’t sure whether anyone was going to mention that, honestly. “Yes.”

He expects a lot of responses – denial, confusion, even anger. But Gaudy just asks, “Why?”

“It wasn’t one thing,” says Cliopher slowly. Another pause. “I know it sounded like I was blaming our family. I wasn’t, exactly. I was… most places on Zunidh had a much, much harder time during the Fall. There were nearly five thousand people in the Palace of Stars on Silverheart, when the Emperor fell asleep; less than six hundred of us survived. Astandalas itself was wiped away. Kavandaru sunk into the sea… imagine that everywhere, all over the world. And the other worlds of the Empire, too… it was hard to live through that, but it was also hard to come back and realize no one here understood.”

“And they understand in Solaara?” Gaudy asks, quiet.

“About that, yes.”

But it’s true they don’t understand Cliopher in Solaara. They don’t understand his customs or values or what he wants from Zunidh. And it hurts. There is nowhere he feels wholly at home. Cliopher hopes that will change, but sometimes he isn’t sure.

Cliopher says, “I really will come back, one day. I’m sure of it. But it wasn’t what I needed then, and this isn’t the right time either.”

“I know,” says Gaudy, to his surprise. “I think Grandma would drive you crazy.”

Cliopher snorts despite himself. “She means well.”

“Yeah, sure she does. But she drove me nuts when I broke my wrist, and I didn’t even live with her. She didn’t want me doing anything. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Silence. “Oh. I keep forgetting you can’t see me,” Gaudy mutters. “Do your friends have trouble remembering?”

“Sometimes. They’ve gotten much better.” Cliopher hesitates, then lowers his voice to confess, “My lord has been wearing a lot of noisy jewelry lately. And sometimes bells, on the bottom of his robes.”

Mirthful, Gaudy repeats, “Bells?”

“He thinks he’s being subtle,” says Cliopher, and Gaudy laughs.

It breaks the awkwardness a little. Cliopher always misses his family in Solaara; there’s a lot of them to miss. He grew up surrounded by family, and it’s still odd to return to the repressed atmosphere of the capital. His lonely rooms, and the polite, formal distance that exists even between close friends at Court.

When they’re done eating Gaudy loops an arm around Kip and leans against him while asking if there’s anywhere he’d like to go; Cliopher stifles a smile at this easy affection. “Actually, I was hoping to stop by Solyn Varga’s house.

A hum. “Great-Aunt Solyn? Huh, sure. I think I know where that is. We’ve never visited much.”

“I haven’t, either,” Cliopher agrees. “I have a package for her. From someone in Solaara.”

“Oh, okay. You always make it sound like there aren’t other Islanders there.”

So Cliopher explains about the shop-owner he met, and his late Varga wife. “I never learned much about my father’s traditions,” he muses. “But I can see how traveling would appeal to a hunter looking for a challenge.”

Aunt Solyn lives on the far side of the island. They find the right place, but it turns out Great-Aunt Solyn isn’t home. Cliopher hates lingering outside. He doesn’t know this end of the island well enough to picture it. “Do you want to just leave the package?” Gaudy suggests. “I could write a note.”

He could; it’s not like Cliopher knew the Varga woman in Solaara. He wouldn’t be able to tell their aunt anything about her. “I’ll come back another day,” Cliopher decides. He has a full month, after all.

As they head back Gaudy offers, “Mama doesn’t mention her dad’s family much.”

“No,” Cliopher regrets. “It was hard to talk to them after he died.” And it didn’t help that Cliopher was furious at everyone and everything; by the time the dust settled they’d been distantly polite with Kip, except his more stubborn Varga grandmother.

They could have tried harder to stay close; but then, Kip didn’t try either.

Cliopher isn’t surprised when Conju reveals a sheath of questions from Domina Audry the next morning. Evidently his friend wrote to Solaara as soon as Cliopher’s affliction returned.

But Cliopher doesn’t have anything new to report. Conju dutifully records all his responses anyway; no, he didn’t experience any pain with the vision-loss; his headaches are better, not worse, now that he can’t see; he still sees some flickering colors, though they don’t match the colors Conju says he should see; and so forth. Cliopher confirms there was no magical trigger for the incident. Maybe that will be some comfort to his lord.

After breakfast they stop by the Spire to send the letters, then head downtown. It’s awkward.

“Hey, Kip,” he hears again and again – but the people who greet Cliopher never sound happy to see him. There’s an air of constant uncertainty. Cliopher doesn’t know whether it’s due to his blindness – and everyone suddenly knows about the blindness – or if they also heard about his outburst at the Mdang family house. Perhaps it’s both.

One thing Cliopher’s always treasured about Tahivoa is that he could come home and fall immediately into the rhythms of the city. But he’s upset all the usual patterns, and now no one knows how to act – Cliopher included.

“We could take the sea-train to Csiven for part of the holiday,” Conju suggests at one point. “If you’d like to give them time to adjust.”

“Is that what you think I should do?”

Conju sniffs. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your family, and your life.”

“Conju - “

“But if you’re asking, I think you should get all this awkwardness over with now. Better than going back to Solaara and wondering what they’re all thinking. I can understand not wanting to write it all out, Cliopher; well, you don’t have that excuse anymore.”

“I know I’ve been a coward about this.”

“It’s not an easy situation. But I do notice you’re not nearly as assertive with your family as you are at Court.”

“That’s different.”

“How so, exactly?”

Cliopher considers. “Well. Partially because in Solaara, when I’m discussing anything to do with government, I know I’m right.” Cliopher rarely questions it; and when he does he’s usually just overlooked the details or minutiae of an issue. Conju laughs. “But also, I don’t care what people say to me… what they think… there are exceptions, of course,” including Conju himself. “But it’s not the same. At Court I’m just trying to get things done, and I know how to do it. Family is more… complicated.”

Conju says, “The difference to me is that Court is a battlefield; surely it should be easier to trust your family with the truth of things.”

Cliopher doesn’t know how to answer that.

Their walk eventually takes them out past the ahalo warehouses, where the most luxurious fabrics are made and sold. It’s near the market, and a popular site for traders to visit. Cliopher remembers his mother’s invitation and wonders guiltily how she’s responded to his outburst. He’s more than a bit surprised that she never came storming into the Dolphin; he doubt Cousin Maius would have stopped her.

He asks whether Conju would like to visit the warehouses now – the answer is a strangling grip on his arm, and a terse ‘no.’

Conju also isn’t particularly interested in the market, or swimming, or – this emphasized with a particular exasperation – even seeing the glorious view of the Bay of Waters from the beach. “I will remind you – again! – I am working. If you would like to accommodate me, you can do so by forgetting I’m here.”

Cliopher halts them. He smells the tangy salt-damp smell of the sea, twisted up with the heavier scent of sodden wood beneath his feet; much of Gorjo city is built on floating ramps and platforms. He wants to protest the idea of forgetting Conju, or pretending they aren’t here as friends; instead he says, “I don’t want things to change.”

A pause. Conju squeezes his arm again. “Well, it has,” he says simply. Cliopher continues to flounder, but his response evaporates when Conju touches a gentle hand to his cheek. “Do you think I love our lord less because I work for him? Have you ever known me to resent that work? Do you ever disdain his invitations?”

Cliopher is mortified by the comparison. “It’s not the same.”

“Well, no; no one can compare to him. But you can see what I mean.”

“It’s just not what a friendship is meant to be.”

“You are just used to being ranked lower than everyone, and bullying your way into their affections anyway,” is the amused reply. “Well, now you’ll have to start getting the awkwardness from the other side. I want to help you. I am your friend and, yes, it is part of my job too; even better! Few people get such satisfaction from their work, you know.”

Cliopher cannot refrain from a rueful smile.

“Kip?”

That’s a woman’s voice, tentative. Cliopher blinks as Conju’s hand slides away. It takes a moment to place her, and even then he isn’t sure. “Ghilly?” he hazards.

“Yes.” Footsteps. Conju takes another step away, and Cliopher feels bereft, after that heart-wrenching speech. “Can I… do you have a moment?”

“I’ll walk down the pier a bit,” Conju assures, sounding a little wobbly himself. And then he goes – he must, because Cliopher hears his steps.

He wishes people would stop doing that. Maybe Cliopher didn’t want to be alone with Ghilly; but it’s not like he has a choice now.

There’s a small pause. “Um. Should I… will you take my arm?”

He shrugs and nods. Another pause. “On your left,” she adds. He reaches and brushes her stomach, then empty air, and finally finds her elbow.

She doesn’t guide with the same care as Conju – he stumbles more than once – but they walk slow enough that it’s fine. “I heard about, well. Everyone’s talking about you.”

“Yes.”

“Not just the blindness,” she adds. “It’s just… oh, Kip. Was it because of me?”

Cliopher frowns. He hears birds screaming from the beach, and focuses on that familiar din to ground himself. “The blindness? It was magic.”

“No – no. They said, well. You mentioned that you had to leave. When you came home after the Fall.”

Or you were going to hurt yourself, she does not say.

Oh.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cliopher interrupts. He thinks. In the interest of honesty: “I can’t say it helped. But you were right to say no, for many reasons. I was… just trying to find happiness, I suppose. And I finally realized at some point I wasn’t going to find it here, so… I decided I might as well try back in Solaara. Fortunately it worked.”

Ghilly is quiet. “You’re happy, then.”

“Yes.”

“Despite this… blindness?”

Cliopher hesitates again. He thinks of Solaara – the ridiculous rooms, and his attentive new staff. Conju and Rhodin and Ludvic, who have adjusted around him. His lord, who treats him with greater familiarity and friendship than ever before. “Yes. I still have my work, and my friends.”

“I’m glad.” To his surprise Ghilly hugs him. “I wish you’d told us, Kip. What an awful thing to go through alone.”

“I’m not alone. My lord has been very generous in helping me adjust.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ghilly says, but doesn’t elaborate. “Will you have dinner with us tomorrow? And maybe Bertie, too.”

“Perhaps another day? Vinyë has a concert tomorrow, doesn’t she?” He can at least try to make up for this drama by supporting his sister.

The concert is lovely, of course, and something Cliopher can appreciate fine without sight. He makes a mental note to start attending more performances in Solaara. Plays and the opera have become difficult things; his friends are generally happy to narrate, but it’s still a struggle to understand what’s going on, and Cliopher’s concerned any whispered asides might bother other guests.

This performance doesn’t share that problem, except when a titter goes through the crowd and Conju murmurs, “One of the bassoon players just dropped their instrument onto the foot of the clarinetist.”

The departing crowd is less pleasant, so they sit until most people have dispersed before filtering into the reception-hall outside, where the musicians mingle to accept congratulations and praise. Conju briefly leaves Cliopher by the wall to get drinks.

“Oh, Kip!” Vinyë calls, and Cliopher finds himself engulfed in a hug. “I’m glad you could come!”

“We weren’t sure you’d make it.” Cliopher manages not to jump at Quintus’ voice, right next to his ear. When did he arrive? “A great performance, Vinyë.”

“You played wonderfully,” Cliopher agrees. He wishes he could have watched; he always liked seeing the quick, clever motions of the string-players. “I’m not familiar with the piece, though.”

“Oh, it’s a new composition! The writer is so young, too. There’s this rising-star in the Outer Ring that’s been sending us samples…”

Vinyë speaks in a rush, perhaps relieved to find an easy topic; Cliopher’s glad to listen. It’s still awkward, and after a minute describing the young outer-ring prodigy she says, “And – how are you, Kip? Gaudy said you spent a day with him.”

“Fine. It’s nice to be home.”

Silence.

Cliopher never before realized how often people exchange glances, or make little motions that fill the void of speech; all talk is now riddled with gaps and silence. “Mama’s been upset,” Vinyë says. Yes, she would be. “She’s visiting Auntie Moula, but she cried and cried after you left. Did you really – I mean – would it have been that bad to stay here, after the Fall?”

“Yes. But it was a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Cliopher pauses. “I would have,” he says, “If anyone had asked. No one here seemed interested in the rest of Zunidh. It didn’t seem like anything people would take it… seriously, I suppose.”

“But, Kip - “

“Vinyë! Is this your brother at last?”

Cliopher frowns, turning automatically toward the voice; it stirs a faint memory. People arguing and shouting. Long nights trudging back and forth… but maybe he’s still thinking about the Fall.

“This is Paulin,” Vinyë introduces. “And his brother, Hugon – didn’t I write you about Hugon? We’ve been dating. This is Kip! I’m so glad you can finally meet.”

“Of course; very nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met before,” Paulin says, sounding very startled for some reason. “...I worked with the Amboloyan Ministry of Culture.”

Cliopher pauses, brain grabbing at that faint impression of chaos and arguments. “You were at Littleridge.”

“I am astonished you remember. Vinyë, you have been holding out on us! So many times you’ve asked if we knew about him – and you didn’t realize he was blind, I thought? But everyone knows that!”

“What?” asks Vinyë puzzled.

“You always called him ‘Kip!’” Paulin continues. “But everyone knows Lord Mdang.”

“Lord?” Quintus mutters. Cliopher flushes.

Paulin continues, “He’s been all over the papers… I can see why you would want to escape it awhile, your Excellency. We were so glad to hear you’re staying on. What a waste it would have been… Zunidh would be the poorer if you retired.”

Cliopher smiles more genuinely. “Thank you, that’s very kind. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by excellent people, and the transition has been smoother than I expected.”

“Who was it that acts as his secretary now – Sayu Aioru, I think was the name? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, he’s quite a bit younger – joined the Service as 17. I’ve always expected he would take over one day; he’s just taking on certain duties a bit sooner than anticipated. But it’s certainly good experience.”

“Little point perfecting the present without an eye toward the future,” Paulin agrees.

It occurs to Cliopher that Vinyë isn’t saying much. But before he can try to draw her into the conversation Paulin adds, “One Above, is that the Cavalier Conju an Vilius?”

“Oh, he’s looking around; I’ll grab him,” says Quintus. This presumption elicits sputtering.

“I’ll introduce you,” says Cliopher, with no little amusement; and he does, a formality Conju accepts with the typical haughty air of someone who meets scraping nobles every day, all eager for a hint of attention.

Paulin stumbles a little in the face of this very Astandalan-era aristocrat, as he didn’t with Cliopher. While they make painfully-polite greetings and smalltalk Cliopher wonders whether Hugon is still there; he’s barely said a word. But there’s not really a good way to ask.

This question is answered a minute later, when Conju – with perfect cordiality – begins a polite interrogation of the man, condescendingly assessing his current profession, asking probing questions about his parents and inheritance, and quite plainly seeking to see if he’s good enough for Vinyë. Hugon turns out to have a mild manner and slow way of speech, but he holds up remarkably well, Cliopher thinks, given that he probably did not arrive to this reception expecting the head of the Imperial Household to ask questions about his holdings back in Amboloyo.

Cliopher intervenes only once Conju starts grilling them about Prince Rufus. He tries to turn the conversation by asking whether Quintus has ever been to Amboloyo.

“Only the ports, briefly,” says Quintus. “But I’m starting to wonder how well-traveled you are... ‘Lord Mdang?’”

Cliopher says, “I did mention a promotion.”

The reception is coming to a close. Cliopher declines his family’s invitation to go to Vinyë’s for drinks; he can recognize the questions lurking under the offer, and it’s been a long day. He takes Conju’s arm and clutches his cane tight to his chest until there’s space to use it on the boardwalk outside.

They go back to the Dolphin, where Cousin Maius stops them for a brief chat before they can escape. Conju sets up a bath and prepares the rooms with brisk efficiency. Cliopher’s surprised to find himself missing his ridiculously-large suite in Solaara. At least he knows where everything is, now, and he never feels quite so awkward when people flutter around doing the work he cannot see.

When Conju is done Cliopher tells him, “I’m meeting with one of my uncles tomorrow. It might take awhile, and it’s – well, we have some private things to discuss.”

Cliopher doesn’t know how to tactfully explain that he doesn’t want his friend there; Conju is unfazed. “Of course. Actually, that’s good timing. I promised to join your mother at the salon, remember? And I think dear Eidora needs to hear a few things about Solaara.”

Cliopher isn’t sure what that means. “I know you’re friends, Conju, you don’t need to - “

“I said about Solaara. Not everything is about you, you know,” Conju sniffs. Though Cliopher’s sure this is, in fact, about him. “Where does this uncle live? I’ll walk you over in the morning.”

There’s an odd energy around Lazo’s barbershop, even when it’s closed; it’s difficult to describe. Cliopher’s uncle might not have the most prestigious job in the world, but this place is where the old elders and lorekeepers often congregate, sitting around the little tables with games to chat while the tana works. Cliopher well remembers the part of his apprenticeship spent here, listening and learning about undercurrents and all the subtle hints that underlay plain speech.

Sometimes, he wonders whether Lazo actually intended to teach those lessons.

He greets Cliopher very warmly, and offers a drink to Conju, who declines and leaves them alone. Lazo takes his arm gently. “I’ll be your eyes if you help me keep my balance,” he says amiably, tapping his own cane against the floor. Cliopher smiles wryly.

They sit down inside. The smells are familiar. Though Conju suspects his uncle might have switched some products around; there’s a powerful hint of frangipani he doesn’t remember from before. “Been wondering how long it would take you to visit, Kip. Been talking to a lot of people about you.”

Cliopher wonders if that includes his mother; Lazo’s sister. “Yes.”

“Blinded months ago and you never wrote… that must have been hard, out in the city.” A beat. “So. You want to talk about it?”

Cliopher perks up. “Yes, actually. I’ve been pondering ways to keep practicing Aōteketētana; it’s difficult when I can’t check to see if I’ve stepped into the training-marks. But I’m sure it’s still possible.”

A long silence.

Cliopher taps his cane and strains his ears. Is Lazo still there?

Finally Lazo asks, “You still practice it?”

“I’m often busy in Solaara, but I try to do a small section every morning… or I did, anyway. I suppose I could ask someone to check for stains for me, but not every day.”

Another pause. “Right. Sure… guess we can do that. Why don’t we go out back and set up some coal, I’ll take a look.”

Lazo’s weird mood subsides after Cliopher demonstrates a short section of the dance. “You’ve got the movements right,” he says, which is extremely satisfying. “But you didn’t stand in the right spot at the start, so it’s all off… the hardest part will just be figuring out how to jump in safely.”

“I still need to know if I’m making mistakes, too. When I practice.”

“Yes.” A pause. “Hmm. When I was a kid, you know, I asked Tovo why we had to set up lines in the sand to practice each time, instead of having a dedicated space.”

“What did he say?”

“Told me it was practice for setting up the dance proper, and helped you remember it, which is true. And it helped to do the dance in different areas, so you weren’t nervous at a festival… but, well. You ain’t gonna be setting out the coals yourself anyway. Let’s go see the kunà.”

The lorekeeper of the Nevan is one of Lazo’s friends, an older woman with a reedy voice. Cliopher can remember her – she was slight and bent from years working the threads, and her hair was mostly gray. Perhaps all gray, now. She was always colorfully dressed; the Nevan are Those Who Tie the Sails, and all fibercrafts are part of their stories. A poorly-dressed kunà would be an embarrassment.

She invites them to sit down; Cliopher nearly falls onto a chair that’s much lower than he expected. She listens to Lazo’s explanation of the problem, and gets the idea quicker than Cliopher. “Ah – you want a mat with the lines, then?”

“With different textures,” Lazo says. “It would need to be flat and firm enough for dancing. Maybe a bit painful if you step onto the spots meant to be hot.”

Cliopher didn’t think of that, but it’s a good idea; and he doesn’t mind the pain. Learning Aōteketētana left him with plenty of scars.

“Not often that people want my creations to be rough,” she laughs. “I could thread sharp things through… no, don’t want to risk cutting your feet. Hmm, painful… I’ll have to look through my supplies. Definitely going to have to wait until your next vacation to pick it up, Kip. I can’t finish a project like that in a month.”

Cliopher assures her he understands. He’s just delighted to have a solution to this nagging problem.

Lazo promises to help her with the pattern, and also suggests markers at even distances along the side. If Cliopher can learn exactly where to stand before he jumps into the fire, that will help immensely. “The practice is one thing,” Lazo says. “If you want to be festival-ready… assuming you plan on attending the festivals…”

A light jab. Cliopher shifts from one foot to another.

Lighter, Lazo adds, “Not that there’s any rush. The urumà broke their ankle, you know. Won’t have the Greater Festival this year, certainly.”

“Oh.” Cliopher didn’t expect to come this year anyway, but it’s still a relief to have that blame removed.

Lazo pats his arm.

They have a nice meal after, while waiting for Conju to return. Lazo asks, “Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Not really.

Eidora shows up at the Dolphin one morning before they leave.

Cliopher only knows she’s there when Conju opens the door, and suddenly his mother’s voice says, “Gaudy told me you have business with Aunt Solyn.”

Cliopher – who had been lounging quite comfortably by the window and toying with Ludvic’s puzzle while he waits for Conju to finish dressing – stumbles to his feet under his mother’s grim attention. “Mama. Ah. Yes, I have a package for her.”

“I’ll take you there,” she says. “I haven’t seen Solyn in awhile.”

Cliopher flounders a moment; Conju does not save him. “Yes, alright,” he relents.

His Mama is getting older; she feels fragile when he takes her arm, thinner and more bony than he remembers. It’s an unpleasant reminder that time continues to pass even when Cliopher isn’t here; his family won’t be around forever.

It’s a nice day for a walk. They go past the outskirts of the main city; she’s not as good a guide as Conju, either, but better than Gaudy and Lazo were. Cliopher remembers that his Mama occasionally visits a friend in the Isolates with vision problems; he’s never gone with her.

“Are you going to make me ask questions, Kip?” Eidora Mdang asks. “You don’t write us any important news; you get here and tell us you’re blind; and you still won’t explain?”

“There’s not much to explain, Mama. It was a magic accident.”

“From your lord,” Mama says, disdainful. “Conju explained that much. How does a ‘great mage’ do something like that by accident?”

“Magic is hard to control. It wasn’t his fault.”

“You always loved magic,” she says. “I remember you’d always play pretend with the boys,” by which she means Basil and Dimiter, “and you gave me a fright more than once. There was one day Dimiter knocked you right over the edge of that cliff, remember? You popped up from the water laughing.”

“And you screamed at us.”

“Of course I did. I’m your mother. None of you looked below first; what if you’d landed on the rocks? What if you hit a shallow spot, and broke your spine? Even if you lived, that fall could have ruined your life.”

“My life isn’t ruined, Mama.”

“You’re always doing things and laughing off the danger. Conju said this is permanent.”

“Probably, yes.” It’s not like they can be certain.

Great-Aunt Solyn is home today. She’s old – nearly as old as Tovo, probably – but greets them with puzzled warmth as soon as she remembers who they are. She bids them to sit and bustles around preparing snacks. “Oh, Eidora, dear, it’s been years! And who is this? Your grandson? What was his name, Gildonius?”

“Kip. My son, Auntie.”

“Oh, yes! I suppose so. I thought you were in Astandalas?”

“I work in Solaara.”

“Yes, yes, right. Well, what a nice surprise.”

It takes a little time – and some conversational wandering – before Kip gets to the purpose of the visit. He takes out the bundle the shopkeeper gave him. “I brought some efela, Auntie, from Nesta Varga. Her husband sent them along; she died a few years ago.”

That makes Aunt Solyn still for a moment. “Oh,” she says sadly. “I didn’t know. But I’m not surprised. No one’s heard from her in years. My niece will be glad for the efela, Kip, thank you. She lives on the edge of the Ring, I’ll have to see who’s heading that way...”

“She’s been gone that long?” Eidora asks. “Nesta, that is.”

“Oh, years and years. She left not long after the typhoons died down. She was terribly bored here, and worried she’d get ‘trapped’ on the islands if something like that happened again! I told her, if those storms come back we’ll all have bigger problems; but she didn’t want to miss out on things. She wrote the most colorful letters about Eastern Dair, and all the places between...”

“It must have been hard on your sister,” says Eidora.

“Of course it was,” their aunt says. “But Nesta was happier traveling. And she got married and had a good family and a good life; what more could any mother want?”

Cliopher is guiltily glad to return to Solaara.

It’s just so, so much more easier than watching his every word around his family – depending on Conju, too, for everything. Conju deposits him at his new quarters, where Franzel very efficiently draws a bath; the servants take his things; Cliopher doesn’t need any help navigating the space. He’s alarmed to find how much he’s grown to appreciate having a household.

But he declines Shoanie’s offer to read to him; the skyship arrived well into the night, so he retires with great relief, planning to see his lord in the morning.

And of course he gets up early the next day. His secretaries enter and read the latest reports while Cliopher takes breakfast. He sends out four letters before he steps out the door. He decides to stop by the Private Office before doubling back to the Imperial Tower to discuss the missing weeks with his lord.

On the way there Saya Ira halts him with a nudge.

“Lord Mdang,” someone says. The voice is male, vaguely familiar. “I’ve been assigned as your guard today; will you walk with me?”

“My guard?” Cliopher automatically takes Ira’s arm again. They take a few steps to, presumably, follow the guard. “Did something happen?”

“Not here, your Excellency.”

So Cliopher falls silent, following the guard as they turn down one hall, then another. His thoughts churn. Did something happen to his Radiancy? Otherwise Ludvic or Rhodin would have come, surely, if there were a more personal threat. “Guardsman,” he starts.

Sayu Lora makes a surprised sound. Cliopher pauses, head tilting. “What was that?” he prompts.

Lora doesn’t reply. But Ira gasps, lurching away. Cliopher’s arm reaches out into empty air. He hears a thump.

Cliopher grips his cane with both hands. “Did something happen?” he demands. No reply. He automatically swings his cane and jumps when it halts against an uneven lump on the floor.

“Guardsman,” he repeats. A heavy hand grabs his shoulder. Cliopher immediately turns to follow the guard’s lead – is there an attack? A medical emergency? Something else…?

The guard doesn’t take him anywhere. Instead Cliopher finds himself crushed against a strong body, one arm pinning him in place as a sweet-smelling cloth presses over his mouth and nose.

Cliopher thinks, oh, as his limbs stop working and his body goes limp.

Chapter Text

Cliopher wakes up to darkness – which has become normal, so he doesn’t panic. Then he realizes he’s sitting up, and something heavy pins down his arms.

“Conju?” he murmurs, automatic. He assumes for a moment he’s fallen asleep at his friend’s.

But his shoulders hurt, and his back and arms; Conju wouldn’t leave him slumped in a chair for hours. And there’s a strange scent in the air, unpleasantly rotten, which Conju would never allow.

Then Cliopher remembers the sound of Saya Ira falling to the ground, and he’s wide awake.

“Lord Mdang. Finally. Our patron will become impatient.”

“I am awake, yes,” says Cliopher tersely. By reflex he braces against the rope; it’s surprisingly loose, though that also means he can’t find any purchase. He shuffles his feet; they aren’t tied down. His fingers brush a wooden chair. “I am afraid you will need to introduce yourselves.”

“How very polite,” is the cold reply. “Listen to him! As though he’s going to negotiate with us.”

Another voice: “Does it make you feel better, to put on the airs of your betters?” Oh, these are monologuers, Cliopher realizes with gloomy resignation. “You’re only a common servant despite all the titles you’ve stolen.” Did he steal more than one? Cliopher frowns. “Today you’re going to serve our princess by effecting the release of her vassals.”

Cliopher rifles through his memories. Unfortunately his knowledge of the past month is sparse, since he was on vacation. An older memory stirs. “Is this about… Mgunai? Your princess is the one who arrested them.”

“The usurper arrested them,” the man declares.

Oh, ugh, this is a coup. And not even a coup against his Radiancy, so it’s really unfair they felt the need to involve Cliopher. He sighs.

The stranger kicks his chair. “Is this not entertaining enough for you?” he snaps.

“Not really,” Cliopher says, and wonders sadly if he lost Ludvic’s puzzle somewhere along the way. He shifts his hands but can’t find it to check. “You have yet to explain what this has to do with me; you could have arrested any number of people to write legal pardons.” Not that a pardon given under threat would be held as valid.

“My name is Tavrio. Duke of Mindan. We need you to intercede with his Radiancy,” the man says.

Cliopher laughs.

“This is not a joke, Sayo Mdang. I suggest you take us more seriously.”

“This is not a joke, but you are; my lord is more likely to have you executed than entertain your delusions. But some people are not meant for politics and schemes. If you release me now he might be swayed to forgive you.” At least to the extent of only sentencing this idiot to life-long imprisonment.

“Quit laughing! I kidnapped you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, very good. You kidnapped a blind man; you must be a master of combat. Perhaps next you can try to tackle the guard that broke his arms last month.” Though Cliopher is pretty sure Kulo could take them regardless. “Now why, exactly, would I intercede for you after being released?”

The man sounds properly agitated now. “You’re not getting released! You’re going to write him a letter.”

“You want me to write a letter?”

“Yes. Outlining exactly what we’ll do to you if he refuses.”

“You want to extort the Sun-on-Earth,” says Cliopher, and pauses for effect. “By threatening me.”

“Yes.”

“And so you’ll contact him with a letter you want me to write. The blind man.”

Silence.

Cliopher can, of course, write perfectly well; his pages mutter incredulously over his still-perfect handwriting every time he sends letters home. But a long stretch of silence proves that his captors are unaware of this fact, and did not properly consider the logistics of this endeavor.

“So I see a few issues with this plan,” says Cliopher, still mild. “Would you like suggestions?”

“No!”

“It just seems as though you need them. I have always been of the mind that any good process should be peer-reviewed.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m – I’ll be back in a few hours. We’ll see how funny this seems when you’re starving.”

Cliopher fixes a pleasant smile onto his face until the pair stomp away. A door opens, then closes. Cliopher waits a minute more until he’s sure no one is around.

He does wonder about his pages – but he’s sure the ‘duke’ and his associate would have mentioned if they were here, and carting multiple people from the Palace halls would have been an added difficulty. Hopefully they were left behind unconscious, and not seriously hurt.

Cliopher has no idea where he is.

He could be in the Palace, still; although he doubts it. The floor feels like uneven wood. There’s a heavy scent in the air, as though it’s rained recently, although Cliopher doesn’t think it’s night; it never rains during the day in Solaara. How long was he unconscious?

So, most likely somewhere outside Solaara. Perhaps in the mountains; there’s many winding-trails, and plenty of places to hide a small encampment. They can’t be too far. Unless his captors stumbled over a natural portal, Cliopher supposes, in which case he could be anywhere in the nine worlds.

But that’s an unproductive line of thought, so he shoves it aside.

In the mountains. He’s assuredly in the mountains. Which means he just needs to get out, and it won’t be far to the city.

Encouraged by this thought, Cliopher wriggles and twists to test his bindings. He’s quite good at escaping from ropes; he had a lot of practice when he was held captive by the Grey Mountain tribesmen. Of course, he was surrounded by pikes and sleeping hunters there; he became proficient at slipping his bonds to stretch or collect bugs and water, retying himself once refreshed. And this ‘duke’ is not nearly as good with knots.

So after an agonizing ten minutes he manages to slip one very sore hand from the ropes, and then it’s easy to get the other. He marvels that they didn’t even tie his feet. Cliopher gets up and cautiously starts to circle the room.

He bumps into sometimes soon enough; a wooden table. He sticks his hand into what seems like a half-eaten bowl of stew, grimaces, and wipes it against the wood. But he takes the metal spoon and knife. A potential plan occurs to him.

But first he pokes around a bit more, and is delighted to find his writing-kit and cane both set neatly by the door. Perfect. He slings the case over his shoulder and picks up the cane, already feeling better.

Cliopher’s just located the door when it swings open without his input. Someone yells, “Fuck!” and grabs him. It sounds like the Duke again.

Cliopher spares a second to grab his cane and drop his hand to the middle. He finds the wavy rays of the sun etched on its side just as the man shoves him, and thrusts it toward the Duke Tavrio’s face.

There’s a crackle, a scream. A thud.

Cliopher waits, hard pounding, but – nothing else happens. He kicks out and connects with a limp mass. He can’t hear anyone else coming – even with all that noise! – and feels around until he finds the man’s neck.

He immediately finds a rapid pulse. Okay. Evidently the cane does produce electric shocks, like Rhodin promised. Nice to test that.

He takes a few breaths to calm himself. This is fine. He just needs to get out, and walk… somewhere. Anywhere far away from here.

There’s a faint groan. A curse. The man grabs his leg.

Alarmed, Cliopher twists the sun again. The sun’s wriggly rays scrape unpleasantly over his palm; he grips it tight and bashes indiscriminately downward, using quick, staccato strikes like he’s beating yams to softness during the yearly harvest.

He must hit skin, because there’s a strange rattle through the air and a smell like burnt ozone. He hits and hits as the hand around his leg grows slack. Cliopher hesitates, waits a second, and then bends and gropes around.

He eventually finds the man’s arm, and then his neck. He presses his fingers there; this time he doesn’t find a pulse.

Ah. Well; it’s not the first time Cliopher’s killed a man. The fourth, actually. Two of the others were also in these mountains. He sighs.

Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry about the man’s safety for this next part. Cliopher doesn’t know how many accomplices the man has; there must be more than the two of them? And he want anyone coming back to find him gone. But Cliopher can imagine one sure distraction.

He finds the spoon and knife from before. Then Cliopher taps his stick along the floor until he reaches the door again. He steps out onto soft grass to confirm there aren’t more rooms. He goes back inside.

He finds the chair with its slack ropes, carefully keeping track of the door’s location. He cuts a notch in the soft wood of the chair and untangles and saws at the rope until he has a small bundle of dry, stray fibers. He packs it down into the notch and goes to the table, patting around until he finds, luckily, a wooden spoon. He goes back to the rope and untwists a long fiber to brace it with.

It takes several minutes.

Cliopher thinks he hears a faint hiss, the oddly muted shush of a new fire feeding on air. He tilts his head, prodding the fibers with his stick to feed air to his hypothetical-fire. When he judges it should be a bit bigger, he carefully prods -

He jerks back his hand. Fortunately Cliopher’s well-accustomed to burns; he sucks on the wound a minute, considering. He takes the remainder of the rope and winds it carefully around the tiny crackle of flame.

It takes time for fire to catch through solid wood like this, but the rope will help. Cliopher taps the floors with his bare foot. Old; maybe a little damp underneath, but once the chair catches…

Satisfied with a fire well-tended, Cliopher decides it’s time to leave.

The problem, of course, is this: Cliopher has no idea where he is. Or where Solaara is, more relevantly.

But he can feel the pulse of his island in the back of his mind. He cannot check the sun or stars, but Cliopher trusts that feeling. Which means he just needs to figure out where he is in relation to Solaara.

He stands outside the mysterious building and slowly shifts in a circle.

Cliopher can’t hear water, and it doesn’t smell like they’re near the ocean. He’d expect those things if he went east or south.

That still leaves a lot of possibilities. Cliopher halts. He ignores the growing scent of smoke and starts pacing slowly, trailing his hand over the building as he goes. People are inclined to build houses on flatter areas, but…

Ah; here. He fingers find the corner of the house. Cliopher keeps walking. It doesn’t take long for the ground to slope. Alright.

Hills rise and fall, of course; his guess could be wrong. But Cliopher has nothing else to work with. And it seems sensible to him that following this downward slope could bring him closer to Solaara. In which case he’s somewhere north-west of the city. So if he considers Loaloa…

Well, time will tell if he’s right.

It is not easy, Cliopher learns, to walk through an unknown forest with nothing but his cane.

The cane does help. It helps immensely; he’s constantly thwacking it against trees, pushing shrubs, poking gingerly where he’s about to step. It gets tangled in plants many times. But this is slow, slow progress.

The smell of burning gets stronger. Cliopher does his best to remain calm, and hopes he didn’t accidentally set a fire that will burn the whole forest. He’s confident they’re still close enough to Solaara that his lord would notice, of course, and quell the flames before they’re too disastrous… but still.

Aside from the pain he also finds himself unnerved by the sounds of the wilderness. Perhaps half an hour into his walk something bursts through the foliage on his left, a rapid rattle of leaves and branches; Cliopher swings the cane wildly a minute, but hits nothing. The steps and horrible rattling rushes around him. He must have spooked an animal.

And then there are bugs that gnaw his exposed skin, and croaking frogs… he hates the frogs in these mountains. Those can be dangerous, too; at least some of them. Without seeing their warning-colors Cliopher wouldn’t be able to tell. If he hears croaking he veers away.

The air starts to smell smoky.

Cliopher knows a lot about wilderness survival. In normal situations – if he weren’t worried about being found by the people that brought him here – he would find a nice, sheltered spot, clear some space, and set up a signal-fire. He’s pretty sure he could manage that even now. If he could see Cliopher wouldn’t even need that much; he’s not injured. But it’s hard to walk toward civilization when you can’t even see where you’re going.

So when Cliopher hears the distant burble of water, he stops.

It could be a small stream, he supposes. But he tries to remember the placements of the rivers around Solaara. The problem is that there are a lot of rivers; Solaara isn’t far from the sea.

Most of them, though, are to the south and west of the city. Which, if he’s correct… means Cliopher could be going in the wrong direction. He sighs.

On the other hand, traveling near the water might lead him to a village sooner. And he’s thirsty.

This last consideration wins out; Cliopher not sure how easy it will be to find water again. He certainly can’t look around for recognizable fruit. He continues forward.

He doesn’t dare test the depth of the stream-or-river, but sits at the edge awhile considering how best to filter the water. He starts to dig a hole.

Within perhaps half an hour he’s used the knife and spoon he took from the mysterious building to scrape clean a long flat stone, which he washes and then puts over the fire he makes in the hole. This, also, is risky work; he burns his fingertips a few more times feeding a flame he can’t see. Fortunately he doesn’t feel much heat in his hands anymore.

The stone could work to heat food, if he had any. For the moment he washes the knife again, then sets to hollowing out a hunk of dead wood he finds with a little poking around.

(He scrapes off some bugs and other unpleasant things, first, and hopes it’s relatively clean by the end of his work.)

Cliopher scoops up some water, sets that aside, and uses a few sticks to pick up the now-heated stone and dip it inside.

An angry hiss of steam greets him.

Cliopher reflects that he’s going to feel very stupid about this long production if it turns out there’s a village half a mile away. But he’s finally satisfied the water is hot, anyway. He lets it boil awhile, then cool, and returns the stone to its spot.

Then he has to make another makeshift bowl so he can pour the water into it, using his shirt as a filter. The water still has an unpleasant woody taste when he drinks; but that’s the best he can do.

Cliopher sits in the shallows awhile, a small pile of the scraped-debris and wriggly bugs in his hands under the water. He holds still. He remembers Tovo’s lessons and hopes he’s sitting by a well-situated river.

He’s still surprised when a fish actually comes to investigate.

The fish are very, very tiny. And gristly. Cliopher manages to eat three before the fire starts to die and he gives up.

He knows how to carry fire with him – wadding up a little flame to feed in a container – but after weighing the idea he sets it aside. Trying to find an inflammable object and keep the blaze fed seems much more dangerous, right now, than tending a small spark in a hole by the river. The stone is too heavy to bring, but he takes the bowls. Kip dumps wet sand down his construct, kicks it apart, and moves on.

He sleeps that night with his head on his writing-kit, feeling filthy; but he’s only slightly hungry.

The next day goes much the same. Kip makes another fire in the cool morning, scrounges up some sad fish, and decides against consuming a frog he finds on the rocks; he washes his hands thoroughly instead, remembering the bright-gold creatures native to these mountains. He drinks as much water as he can stomach and keeps moving.

There’s no sign of other people.

Which means nothing, honestly. There are many small villages along the rivers, but Cliopher could walk right through a crowd and not notice if they were quiet enough. It’s – frustrating, to know there might be houses on the horizon that he walks right past. But it’s safest to stay by the river.

The next day is much the same. And the next.

In fairness, Cliopher isn’t moving fast. He can’t. The riverside ground is even more treacherous than the closely-packed jungle, and he has to move very carefully. At one point he steps onto something that slips away, and a rattling hiss warns him of a snake’s anger. He backs away fast and gives that spot a wide berth.

He’s getting sick of fish. It isn’t really enough to satiate him, and Cliopher thinks rather wistfully of Franzel’s meals.

So a few days later when Cliopher hears something that sounds like footsteps, he only hesitates a moment. He’d prefer to find a village – a public place – but…

Well, it’s unlikely to be one of his attackers. Cliopher trudges forward. “Hello?” he calls.

The steps stop.

“Excuse me,” Cliopher tries again.

Rapid steps. Cliopher tenses.

“What do you want?” someone snaps.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.”

A pause. Cliopher twitches reflexively when something pokes his shoulder, then withdraws.

“You… are you blind?”

Cliopher’s fairly certain he was just jabbed with a spear; he reaches up to rub the spot and winces when he jostles the tip, still hovering by his torso. “Ah. Yes? I’ve been trying to find a village, but...”

Rustling.

“Oh… uh, sorry. Relations are better with the mountain-tribes these days, you know, but some of them can still get a bit territorial.”

“I’m familiar. You’re local, then?”

“Oh, aye. You aren’t. What were you doing out here? There’s nothing nearby!”

Which makes sense. “I was camping.”

“Alone?”

Cliopher hesitates. “There was a fire…”

He doesn’t have to continue. “Oh! Yes, I saw the smoke. Good thing it went out fast.” Oh, that’s good. “You were there? Was anyone hurt?”

“I’m not sure. We were… separated.” Cliopher remembers the ozone-smell, and the limp body.

“Wow! And it looks like you’ve gone through all your supplies? That must have been frightening,” the stranger sympathizes. Cliopher tries not to bristle at the tone, which reminds him mostly of how people talk to his five-year-old cousins and maybe small dogs. Yelling at the person he needs help from isn’t a smart move. “I was just heading back to the city anyway.”

“Solaara?”

“Yes, of course. Is that alright?”

“Yes… yes, I have friends there.”

“Oh, perfect. Um… give me a minute to pack this away...”

The man rather belatedly introduces himself as Vudil, a crafter gathering herbs for his family’s dye-shop in the city. “We grow most of our own, of course,” Vudil chatters as they walk. Cliopher tries to hold the man’s arm, but Vudil keeps pulling away and looping an arm around him instead. It’s annoying. “But there’s some things that just aren’t economical to grow - “

Cliopher is tired and doesn’t particularly want to chat; he keeps stumbling, too, since Vudil seems to have a hard time matching his pace. But he eventually manages to turn the topic back to dyes and herbs, which is at least interesting. Cliopher loves learning new things, and most craftsmen are happy to share about their professions.

They stop for lunch many hours later (Vudil ells Cliopher it was around dawn when they met, which surprises him; he must have walked through the night). Vudil shares some simple bread-rolls and water, and a handful of jerky. “I usually snack on berries and such out here – don’t bring much,” he apologizes.

And then they’re walking again. And walking.

And walking.

Eventually Vudil says, “You know, we might need to make camp… going a bit, uh, behind schedule.”

Cliopher sighs.

They finally get to Solaara the next morning. “There’s a big line,” Vudil explains; Cliopher can hear the noise of many voices even now. “It goes all down the road… not sure what the fuss is, looks like guards are checking people at the gate.”

Cliopher says, “I have a few guesses.” They join the line.

It’s very irritating, Cliopher finds, to enter the slow shuffle of a line when you can’t see everyone moving; Vudil keeps tugging him, stopping, tugging. Cliopher bites his lip against his protests, and instead seethes silently.

Vudil has been very generous, he reminds himself, by helping a random stranger in the woods. So he’s not going to snap. Even though he really, really wants to.

About an hour in some guards wander down the line with water. Cliopher considers announcing himself, but the guard asks Vudil, “Is your grandfather doing alright in the heat?” and he gets so aggravated he’s still taking deep breaths when Vudil promises they’re fine and the guard moves away.

“Grandfather, ha!” Vudil says. “We don’t look anything alike.”

Cliopher will take his word on that. He’s a little more affronted at the concept he could have adult grandchildren. Though after a thousand years he probably can’t complain.

They finally reach the front.

“Names?”

“Vudil. And this is – I’m sorry, what was it? Kleefer?”

“Cliopher Mdang, thank you.”

“Excuse me?” the guard snaps. “Is that a joke?”

“It is not.”

“You’re Cliopher Mdang.”

“Yes. I really must get to the Palace as soon as possible.”

Silence. Cliopher jerks back when something brushes past his nose; then he hears the slight whoosh of air. “You’re really blind.”

“Yes?”

There’s a strange whistle – one of the guards signals, though Cliopher doesn’t know what one. “Please come with me at once,” the guard says.

Cliopher would agree – except the man doesn’t wait, and grabs his arm in an iron grip. Cliopher finds himself pulled from Vudil and stumbling fast toward...

Something.

“Stop pulling me,” Cliopher snaps. But the guard doesn’t listen. He digs his heels into the ground, but just stumbles when they pull harder, half-dragging him down the street. Someone far away is shouting.

Cliopher’s writing-case is squished against his side; but he still has the cane.

The unnamed guard yelps and crumples when Cliopher twists the wooden sun. He quickly shifts the cane back into its usual inert state – he remembers the dead duke – and then there’s a clamor of noise around him, people yelling, feet stomping.

“If anyone else grabs me without an introduction I’m afraid I’ll have to electrocute you,” says Cliopher mildly. “Now, please get this man medical help and slowly explain what’s going on.”

There’s another confusing babble of noise; finally someone touches his arm, wincing away when he grips his cane. “Lord Mdang. My – er – apologies. I’m a captain with the town guard. We’d like to take you to the Palace; do you need… medical attention first?”

“No, thank you.”

A pause. “Are you sure?”

Cliopher wonders how bedraggled he looks after a week or so in the woods. “Entirely. Would you know whether my attackers were arrested? I’m sure it’s been at least a few days.”

A longer pause. “I’m not sure. But the Lord Emperor cast a spell to find you; it led us to a place in the mountains. There was a freshly-burnt house and a body.”

Ah.

Chapter Text

We never fail to miss Cliopher during his vacations.

We have forbidden our household from disclosing this fact; he clings fiercely to those visits, and while I cannot fully understand – having no real home I can claim to enjoy – the way he talks of his family makes me remember the Red Company. If the love he feels is half as strong – or, inconceivably, greater, because everyone insists family is beyond friendship – then I cannot bear the thought that he might lessen his joy to save our own.

We haven’t worked much during his absence – we never do – but the Private Office has already been shuffling around to adjust to Cliopher’s new position as Lord Chancellor, and to lessen their reliance on a single (very capable) figure. So it doesn’t cause any issues; the Court is by now accustomed to a quiet lull during Cliopher’s vacations.

We wake early. Not surprising, with how much we’ve been sleeping. We rest in the dark and use the time to scan Zunidh’s magic for issues rather than cause a stir by disrupting Conju’s carefully-crafted schedule.

When Conju does arrive, we greet him with a smile. “Did Lord Mdang’s skyship arrive last night?”

“Yes, my lord,” he says, as expected. “He should be along by the second bell, at the latest.”

“Excellent.” We’ve already cleared the morning in expectation.

The rest of the morning is pleasant with that reunion ahead of us. We enjoy a swim in the baths, then eat a large breakfast – to Conju’s plain relief – and, in lieu of anything better, spend a little time with a book of poetry on the veranda. There’s a particular one I’ve been wanting to point out to Cliopher; something about the rhythm makes me think of the way he speaks when he’s very relaxed, and the name looks like an Islander one to me.

Saya Kalikiri has already left you the latest reports to go over with Cliopher. Perhaps we can sit outside for the discussion, I decide. It’s just the two of us; well, us and his own secretaries, of course. You can send for additional chairs.

The second bell has just starting chiming when there’s a commotion from inside. Conju frowns and dips through the door. The guards automatically stand in front of it, shielding me more directly. Probably one of Conju’s new assistants dropped something unbelievable-priceless and culturally relevant. They always get terrified when that happens, but in fairness you have a tremendous amount of priceless and irreplaceable masterpieces lying around.

(We think of the vase in our study. Cliopher loved that vase; I’ve often thought about giving it as a retirement-gift, and would have gifted it earlier if not for, one, Cliopher’s utter refusal to receive valuable rewards; and second, the realization that Cliopher would probably be able to admire the vase more often in our study rather than his own quarters.)

Conju returns. He speaks quietly to the guards. Pikabe gasps; Ato leaps aside to let him enter.

“My lord,” Conju says.

We look up at once. His tone is very different from the gentle amusement he’s carried throughout the morning. “Yes?”

“Commander Omo sent a messenger. They are currently investigating, but a guard found Sayu Lora and Saya Ira unconscious in the hall; they have been unable so far to locate Lord Mdang. Saya Kalikiri confirmed that he never reported to the Office.”

We look across the veranda, at the sunny day, the cup of tea cooling in our hand.

“Oh,” we say.

A heavy rain starts to pour over Solaara.

We do not dare distract our Commander directly; but we request frequent reports, and set up pages to run back and forth. We give him permission to take any measures necessary to retrieve Sayo Mdang safely.

Then I sit in my study to find Cliopher via a trance.

Anyone with the gall to kidnap Zunidh’s Lord Chancellor would, surely, plan the affair; they must have, to incapacitate his assistants and smuggle him from the Palace. Assuming he has left the Palace, of course. Hopefully he’s been hidden somewhere here – perhaps in private quarters, or the unused areas, or a secret passage. You are the Lord Magus of Zunidh; whatever magic they might be using to conceal him, they cannot hide from us.

Still, they must have done something to obscure his trail. It takes me a good hour to untangle the blur of magic to the west. Finally, once we’ve cupped the glow of Cliopher and have it secured, we let our eyes crack open. “A talisman,” we manage.

Conju appears before us at once. “My lord?”

“Something… for the spell. To show the way. Find something - ” a distant memory rises up, painful, of Jullanar holding out a bracelet so I could enchant it to point toward the flowers she was hunting. “A necklace, perhaps.”

There are many necklaces among my closets, and some indeterminable time later Conju rushes back cradling one in his palms. It’s made of diamond and golden beryl and yellow sapphire; I do not doubt it is the priceless relic of some extravagant ancestor of mine.

“Hold it,” we tell Conju.

The magic is still trying, stubbornly, to obscure us; whatever mage they contracted must be maintaining the spell even now, and pouring absurd amounts of materials into the effort. I would call that smart, if it weren’t utter stupidity to defy our hold on Zunidh.

It stops us from targeting the location-spell around Cliopher, though. At least if we want to work fast. And every moment counts. Fortunately Cliopher doesn’t seem to be moving.

We release the impression on the necklace. Immediately the chain yanks toward the wall; Conju clings to it with an expression of alarm. “It will point toward Lord Mdang’s last location; not the current,” we add, with effort. “The location of this exact moment. Tell Ludvic.”

“Yes, my lord…”

We close our eyes and let the magic fade; the rest is on our guards.

The Imperial Guard love Cliopher; they will return him to us.

We rest after the trance.

There was a time, before the Fall – when you were at your most Serene and terrified – that every moment unconscious was a thing of terror. I slept very poorly then; my magic was bound, and I was in agony, but more than anything I feared what would happen while you slept. It was not unknown to waken somewhere I hadn’t fallen asleep; sometimes sitting, even, with a mask on your face and spells of quiet shrouding the throne. We could not trust your guards. We could not trust anyone.

We trust your household now. It took time, and the return of my magic; Ludvic was crucial in establishing your foothold among the troops. The Ouranatha only control the rituals, now. Not us.

Your household will find Cliopher. They will ensure he is not hurt. I am sure of this.

So when we wake, and Conju comes, you ask him, “Did they find Cliopher yet?”

But then I register his face.

His red-rimmed eyes, his stiff posture; we watch numbly as he presses himself into prostration.

He says, “My lord. I am sorry,” and we listen, and then I go back to bed.

Ludvic comes to drape himself over the floor and apologize to you; Rhodin comes; Sayu Lora and Saya Ira send their regrets through Conju.

They found a body. Burnt to a crisp, in a half-rotted house. He would have been alone and terrified. He would have been waiting for rescue, and it did not come in time.

We close ourselves to all the magic of Zunidh for fear of what we might unleash. Even so, some yearns to leak out; we let a gentle rain fall unceasingly over Amboloyo.

Then Ludvic comes with a new report, and we shift that dribble of magic into a torrent over Mgunai instead.

It was not, really, the Princess’ fault. There are factions moving against her; that’s precisely why she requested our intercession. If you had moved quicker – if we had brought Cliopher in, and perhaps he could have solved things -

We cancel Court. We cancel Court. We cancel Court.

We try to give Conju time off; he ignores us, which for him is bizarre. It occurs to me that perhaps he does not want to grieve alone, either, and we use that as an excuse not to protest.

He sits at our bedside with his own distractions. One day he wears a black pearl necklace, oddly simple for him. He tells me it was a gift from Cliopher.

I have often wondered whether it would be better or worse to know whether the members of the Red Company live. It would be worse to know for sure, I decide, if they are dead. Every time I think about Cliopher I feel myself tip and tip toward a dark, mad place; and so I lay in bed and think of nothing instead.

Did he know how much I love him? I wonder. And I am horribly, terribly sure he did not.

Conju tells me the Duke of Cordona has requested an audience; the Prince of Jilkano; my sister, the Grand Duchess.

I turn them all away.

I know what they will say. They will find an excuse to mention Cliopher, and casually offer their regrets or condolences – not daring, certainly, to suggest I should care strongly for my secretary of nine centuries – and then they will hint that my ‘break’ has been causing some issues, and press their own concerns, and…

I hate them all. We cry quietly. Conju hums but otherwise does not react. We have cried often, and it’s no longer alarming to him.

At the door the guards stir. “A message, my lord,” says Ser Rhodin.

The guards are under strict instructions not to disturb me, except for a few specific reasons. I sit up slowly; my head pounds. “Did they locate the other plotters?”

“Not yet,” says Rhodin, sounding far too excited for someone disappointing you.

Finally I register the newcomer – a guard in the city uniform, face red, panting heavily. He stares at me disheveled in your bed for a moment, stupidly awestruck. Your are accustomed to that expression; I hate it.

“Well?” you snap.

He flinches. “My lord – the gate – outside - “

We wait, tense, as the guard catches his breath. The doorguards stand with their spears ready as the man blurts, “Sayo Mdang – Lord Mdang – he’s at the gate. He’s alive.”

“What?” you snap.

The guard throws himself on his face; you wave him up impatiently.

“My lord. He came – the guards say he came up – someone found him in the forest – the guards tried to bring him to a safehouse, but,” the guard looks bewildered even through his nervousness, “he ‘electrocuted’ someone with magic and demanded they bring him to the Palace…?”

Alive. I can imagine it, as I could not properly imagine him dead; grumpy and annoyed and snarling impatiently at the guards for trying to fuss.

Hysterically, you start to laugh.

This does not help any of the guards lose their tension.

_______________________________

We are, of course, an idiot.

I have always known this, but my cult strenuously denies the possibility, so I cannot blame my household for failing to realize Cliopher could be alive. Only myself.

As soon as I ease the leash on my magic his presence bursts into awareness; he may as well be a bonfire shooting sparks from the middle of Solaara. Yet I did not sense him.

Our guards want you to wait for Cliopher to arrive. We don’t do that, obviously.

Nobles and servants alike fling themselves down as we storm down the halls, stairs, more halls. We burst outside and the gate-guards scramble to salute. We have four guards with us; Ludvic must have scrambled for more. He leads the way ahead, golden spear gleaming.

There’s a furor of excitement in the streets; word must have spread. But the usual silence sweeps through when they see you.

It occurs to us that you are still wearing a very plain robe, meant for sleeping and catatonia; oh, well. We don’t care about anyone else right now. And Cliopher will hardly judge our wardrobe.

We follow the trail with some frustration – we want to walk straight toward Cliopher’s light, but there are many inconvenient things in the way, like buildings and people. And our guards, alas, will panic if we fly. We consider it anyway.

But the light isn’t that far, so impatiently we stalk around street after street, approaching circuitously, until suddenly he’s visible with our normal-eyes too.

Cliopher’s being escorted by several guards – as he should be – and he looks a mess. He’s covered with mud and ash up to his knees, and intermittently elsewhere, although his hands and face have been kept mostly clean. He has the cane Ludvic crafted (also clean, due to my own magic). He looks annoyed.

He tips his head up as though he can see me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. He wobbles a little when the city-guards stop walking and fall into obeisance.

Cliopher grips his cane tight for a confused second; one of the guards taps his leg. “Oh! My lord?”

Our throat is tight. We latch onto your serenity. “Lord Mdang. We are pleased to see news of your death was exaggerated.”

“Yes, my lord.” We are secretly thrilled he does not bother bowing, and finally raise the scandalized city-guards with a gesture. “I killed a man and set fire to the place. I hoped the other conspirators would assume I was dead, but it never occurred to me that you would, too.”

“How did you kill a man?” Ser Rhodin blurts, incredulous.

Cliopher taps the cane on the ground. “He kept moving after the first electrocution. And apparently being struck multiple times was lethal. We should discuss the specifics of the magic you cast on this case, your Radiancy.”

I knew the magic was a good idea. I should give Cliopher more protective magics, I think. Maybe a pet wyvern, or a direwolf, or a centicore… that would be useful for travel, actually...

Rhodin goes over to relieve the city-guard and let Cliopher take his arm instead (Cliopher is visibly relieved). “And you… walked back?”

“Yes. I stumbled across someone from the city after… a few days, I think? How long was I gone?”

“About a week.”

“Oh. Well, yesterday, anyway.”

“How did you get through a week alone in the mountains?”

“There was a river.”

“...okay?”

“I caught fish,” Cliopher says, bemused. “And I’ll be dead before I’m unable to start a fire in a forest. It’s not hard.”

Rhodin looks so perplexed we almost laugh again – but we manage to refrain. We really should have brought a litter. Though Cliopher would probably protest. “Are you injured?”

“No, my lord.”

The wound of my lacuna has flooded with joy. Why must you look serene, again? The city-guards gape right along with the passerby on the street. You make a signal; the guards shift around you and Cliopher, who automatically starts walking when Ser Rhodin does. Conju appears on his other side, taking Cliopher’s hand. I didn’t even notice Conju coming along, which is testament to my recent selfishness; he’s been mourning, too. Tears glimmer in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Did you write my family?” Cliopher asks, suddenly anxious.

It did not even occur to me to write his family.

“Not yet,” Conju admits. “I didn’t want them to see it in the papers, but… well, it seemed better to wait until the perpetrators were arrested, if I could. Not that it would have been much comfort.”

“Oh, good. One of them was Duke Tavrio. I think that’s the man I killed? There was a second person, at least. Something about the issues in Mgunai.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with Mgunai.”

“It was supposed to be an extortion scheme.”

Extorting me, he means. Those fools. If they had come to me talking about hurting Cliopher I would have simply erased them from the world. Trying to pressure you merits execution anyway.

“I saw Duke Tavrio yesterday,” says Rhodin, frowning.

“...ah. Well. I killed someone, anyway.”

Conju sighs. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

“What? I’m not hiding it.”

“You could have considered hiding it.”

Now it’s Cliopher’s turn to look baffled.

I decide coming to greet Cliopher was a mistake.

Because I want to say something personal, meaningful; I want to explain how worried I was. To assure him he was missed. I want to comfort him (he is not acting concerned, but he was forced to kill someone). I want -

I want many things I cannot have. We are in public, and there are many floors between the entrance and Tower. It would feel ridiculous, we think, to wait and wait and shed your mask only then, when all the practical things have already been said.

So we just tighten the mask a little further.

“Commander Omo will need your statement as soon as you’ve refreshed yourself,” you say when we return to the Palace. Even to us our voice sounds blank and distant.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Are his quarters still usable, Conju?”

“Yes; nothing has been removed. I’ll summon his household.” Conju’s looking at me oddly, expectantly. So is Ludvic.

We add grandly, “We are pleased to have you returned to Us, Lord Mdang. Please take the day to rest; we will speak about your experiences in the morning.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Conju frowns, but leads Cliopher away with Rhodin. We return down the long halls to the Tower, and up, and up, until we reach out bedroom.

Ludvic and Pikabe assume posts at the door. We return to our bed and our tears.

Does he know how much I love him? I think again.

A stupid question: of course he doesn’t.

Chapter Text

“I really am fine,” says Cliopher. Though by this point he’s resigned to special treatment. He’s certain the Emperor’s personal physician isn’t supposed to handle lesser members of the Imperial household, though.

“As far as I can tell, you’re correct. Aside from having lost even more weight,” Domina Audry sighs. “What were you eating?”

“Fish, entirely.” Cliopher’s picking at some strawberries even as she examines him. Fresh fruit tastes wonderful.

“Safer than foraging in an unknown place,” she begrudges. Which is true, although Cliopher does know the flora of the mountains reasonably well. But he doesn’t want to talk about that. “Please rest and eat slowly for a day or two. I don’t have any immediate concerns.”

“Thank you, Domina.”

But she doesn’t leave. “Now, while I’m here – have there been any changes to your eyesight? Or your headaches?” she always seems convinced they’re connected.

“I’ve still had an unusually low number of headaches,” he admits, so she might not be wrong. “Still no vision.”

“I see. What is an ‘unusually low number?’”

Cliopher considers. “Maybe once a week?”

“...I can give you medication to try and help with that.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“There’s no reason not to try, Lord Mdang.”

He eventually agrees to accept a month’s supply of medication and test it whenever he starts to feel an oncoming headache. He takes a dose immediately; Domina Audry sighs audibly, but doesn’t comment.

“I will report to the Glorious One that you are well enough to make a report. So you should expect a summons soon.”

“Of course.”

Conju insists his Radiancy was ‘frantic with worry.’ Cliopher finds this hard to imagine – he would discount it entirely, except his lord was driven to tears over Cliopher’s blindness.

If he was that worried when Cliopher was only hurt…

But his lord hasn’t summoned Cliopher yet; and he’s tired. He goes to bed, and Franzel rouses him late in the morning. (It’s been hard to tell when to wake without the benefit of the sunlight.)

“The Glorious One sent a message; he will see you after breakfast,” Franzel says.

Cliopher has already given his summary to Ludvic, so his Radiancy should know the basic details of Cliopher’s missing week. But Cliopher is Lord Chancellor now, and his lord will need all the details about his abduction.

Cliopher enjoys a hearty breakfast of fried bacon, eggs, potatoes, and sweet pastries, all washed down with juice and fruit. He nevertheless feels faintly hungry when he leaves; eating fish alone was really not sufficient.

He stops by the Offices before going to the Tower, where he’s greeted with relief and delight. “I don’t have the ambition for a promotion,” Kiri scolds him, surprising Cliopher with a brief and gentle hug. “Try not to get killed, Sir. For the sake of my schedule.”

“I will do my best,” he says, amused.

Cliopher finally makes his way to the Tower.

The guards stomp their spears and announce him before he’s even close to the doors. Saya Ira and Rhodin escort him inside; Cliopher was relieved to learn his own assistants were uninjured by the whole plot. But he’s been assigned a guard ever since the kidnapping.

Rhodin taps him when Cliopher’s an appropriate distance from his Radiancy; he drops into obeisance.

“Cliopher. Domina Audry told me you are well?”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. I was not injured.”

“Yes. Yes, she said.” A pause. “I wanted to say… that is, it did not seem appropriate, when you had just been returned… you looked... you may leave us, Saya Ira.” And he pauses again.

His Radiancy waits until Cliopher’s secertary exits. Cliopher expects something important or grave to justify this; he does not expect his lord to take Cliopher’s hands in his own.

Rhodin audibly inhales. Cliopher can’t blame him for the lapse in composure. His Radiancy tries again, speaking slower. “My dear Lord Chancellor. I am glad, beyond words, that you are well. You will be pleased to learn that Commander Omo has uncovered the perpetrators of your kidnapping.”

“...the Guard is very efficient,” says Cliopher, faint. He realizes there’s fabric under his fingers, not skin; his lord must be wearing gloves.

Then his Radiancy does something that nearly makes Cliopher keel over; he brings their clasped hands to his lips in a brief kiss. Cliopher’s heart skips a beat.

“We were all worried,” his lord says, soft. “Will you join me for lunch?”

Mutely, Cliopher nods.

His Radiancy dismisses the pages and extra guards. So it’s just the two of them around a low table, and of course the inner-guards.

“I do not suppose this incident has convinced you to find a safer occupation?” his Radiancy asks.

“Certainly not, my lord.” Cliopher doesn’t even have to think about it. Which is good, because he’s still distracted by his tingling hands. The Sun-on-Earth kissed his hand, and now he talks about work? “Although I will be looking into protocols for identifying legitimate guards.” And ensuring Conju notifies him of all new hires; Cliopher’s too accustomed to people just showing up and announcing they work for him. This is plainly not a safe approach.

“It’s been awhile since you terrorized the guards with one of your audits. Well. You will be glad to know the responsible parties – or the most important among them, at least – have been arrested; the princess of Mgunai has also been cooperative.”

Cliopher takes a sip of his drink and contemplates whether he wants to inquire about his Radiancy’s emphasis. He decides against it, and instead feels around his plate with a delicate fork.

He’s pleasantly surprised a moment later to bite into soft, buttery scallops. Not a common dish at the Emperor’s table.

“You could have been killed.”

“Yes,” says Cliopher.

There’s a heavy thud. Cliopher savors another delicious scallop before it occurs to him that maybe this was supposed to be emphatic; he tries to look attentive.

His Radiancy sounds shaky and soft. “You madden me sometimes, Cliopher. What can I do that is not already done? I have woven spells of protection around you... I have raised you to the same level as a prince. I have named you my Hands. And still people defy me to grasp at you. What is a crown good for, if I cannot even keep my most dearly-loved people safe?”

At that Cliopher pauses. He carefully sets aside his fork, heart beating. Dearly-loved; and he knew that, in a way, but it an entirely different honor to hear it said so plainly. He rubs his hand. “You carry the crown for the sake of Zunidh, my lord.”

“And you stay for Zunidh,” his Radiancy says; there’s a note of something bitter in that.

“And for you. I will never regret it. Whatever consequences might come, I will not regret it.”

“...no. You wouldn’t; even now you don’t flinch. You are half of my bravery, Cliopher. Sometimes I think that if you were not here beside me…” but he doesn’t finish the thought. “Do me a favor, then, and do not leave me to rule alone.”

“I never will, my lord.” Cliopher hesitates. But then he extends his hand, the hand his lord kissed, with his heart in his throat. Seconds stretch.

Gloved fingers wrap around his own, soft and gentle. Cliopher cannot help but smile. “My lord. When I was blinded, you asked me: how could I stay? But, how could I ever think to leave you? There is no one I love more; and nowhere I would be happier, if you were not there with me. In terms of security I have always been a target; but it is worth everything to be here with you.”

His Radiancy grips him tighter. “I am selfishly glad you stayed. Perhaps I should promote you further, my dear Lord Chancellor; I find I enjoy speaking with you more frankly.”

Cliopher laughs. “What is higher than the rank to which you’ve already raised me?”

“I can imagine something higher,” his Radiancy says, rubbing a thumb over his hand. Cliopher smiles and squeezes back.

Of all the perks of his new status, Cliopher is most pleased that his Radiancy treats him more like a friend.

Cliopher is not thrilled about his new personal guard, which slowly expands over the next month; but he’s consoled with an increase in invitations from his lord. They spend nearly every breakfast together, and often luncheon too. And his Radiancy starts to speak more plainly, more affectionately. Perhaps it’s the result of Cliopher’s rank; or myabe something about his presumed-death shook his Radiancy from his usual distance.

Then one evening, during a particular lull in Courtly issues, his lord sends Cliopher an invitation for ‘evening tea’ with Conju, Ludvic, and Rhodin.

This is a curious thing. Ludvic join his Radiancy for breakfast sometimes; he and Cliopher have rarely done so at the same time. He’s never shared his Radiancy’s table with Rhodin, and Conju is usually the one serving his Radiancy. Cliopher arrives that evening wracking his brain to think what the occasion could be.

Though of course he does not ask. Conju sits beside him and seems especially attentive, tapping Cliopher or nudging him throughout the conversation. Usually Conju gets more tactile when he’s fussing, but Cliopher can’t determine any reason Conju would be worried today. And he sounds cheerful, not upset.

In fact all his friends are in surprisingly good-humor. Usually an invitation from the Lord of Rising Stars leaves conversation stilted, however kind the intent; but Rhodin regales them with a cheerful story about catching a particularly clumsy thief last week (who broke down and confessed to three more crimes as soon as Rhodin inquired what they were doing, poor thing). Conju tells them about an equally-miserable fool who was caught trying to embezzle from Count Marsai last week (she was only embezzling roughly half a valiant per month; upon uncovering the scheme Marsai dismissed her with the bemused advice that ‘it would benefit you to find more honest work until you’re better at being a criminal.’)

His Radiancy interjects rarely; usually a wry remark, or a gentle prod for more. It would be easy to forget he’s here, except that everyone’s so aware of his Radiancy at all times.

Near the end of the dinner there’s a shuffle of activity near the door. “Ah, there we are; I wondered if they would be late,” his lord says. “Ser Rhodin, if you please? Cliopher, I confess we had an additional motive for this invitation. And a surprise for you.”

“My lord?” Surely he is not being rewarded? He’s still new to his role as Lord Chancellor; all the accompanying honors and lifestyle-changes have been more than sufficient honor for a decade or ten.

But Conju chuckles and takes his arm. “Twist your chair around, Cliopher.”

Cliopher lets himself be shifted about. Before he can demand an explanation, Rhodin returns with a voice full of laughter. “Ah, good! Here, brace your arms.”

And suddenly Cliopher has his arms full of something soft and warm and wriggly. He shifts his grip to avoid dropping the mess of fur. “What - “

“It’s a puppy,” says his Radiancy, cheerful.

“I heard about this custom once on Alinor. We had to ask around a bit, but apparently some places train dogs to guide the blind,” Rhodin says. “I’ve been visiting the kennel-master, and he’s put together a whole training program… it’ll take some time, but it ought to help you walk places a bit easier, if you want privacy.” A beat. “And it can be a guard-dog.”

“It will not be a guard-dog, Cliopher, don’t look so worried,” Conju says. “It’s adorable.”

Cliopher does not believe him for a second, and is suddenly sure this dog is going to grow into a large and potentially-lethal breed. But the puppy is determined to lick his face, which distracts him from protesting. It has a very wet nose, and squeaks excitedly when he pats around to find its head.

“It will shed everywhere,” he tries, charmed despite himself as the puppy squirms closer and buries its head against his neck. Cliopher’s rarely handled dogs. They’re usually kept for security or hunting, and were popular on old Ysthar, but not on his islands.

“Your household has been slacking anyway,” Conju sniffs. “You barely live there; they can handle a bit of extra work. Puppy-training included.”

“And she’s magical! A cross-breed.”

“She’s what? What’s she crossed with?”

“Don’t worry about it. She’ll be very clever. And magic-sensitive,” Rhodin says.

Cliopher should argue, he thinks. But the puppy yips, and he can feel a soft tail beating against his arm. Or is that two tails? He smiles. “Oh, Franzel won’t be happy.”

“Your household needs a challenge now and then,” Conju decrees. “It’s good for them.”

Cliopher names the dog Ke’ea, since she will be his navigator and help him find his paths.

One of the servants takes her each day to be trained, but Cliopher needs to learn too; biweekly sessions soon add another obligation to Cliopher’s schedule. But he finds he doesn’t mind. It’s a refreshing change from his usual work. And he enjoys going back to his apartments at the end of each day to be greeted by an ecstatic puppy.

Ludvic still wants Cliopher escorted by guards in Solaara – but if the training goes well he might be able to forgo accompaniment on vacations. It would be nice to walk around the Vangavaye-ve without needing an escort on his own island. Or even to walk around Solaara with the illusion of privacy, wandering long his own path instead of clinging to someone else.

Cliopher and Ke’ea are returning from a walk in the gardens when today’s guard, Varro, suddenly calls for him to halt.

“Ah, good timing,” comes Rhodin’s voice. Ke’ea yips and bounces in greeting, which Rhodin ignores; they’ve all been drilled on not acknowledging the dog when she’s meant to be leading Cliopher, though it’s sometimes difficult when she gets excited to see his friends. Rhodin is her favorite because he bribes her every time he visits Cliopher’s apartment. “You’re getting an extra guard today. Incidentally, have you received any new threats?”

“Not to my knowledge. What happened?”

“There’s a large package for you,” Rhodin explains. “It didn’t come through the usual post; someone paid to have it carted over from the coast. It’s marked from your family. But there’s malicious magic on it.”

Cliopher brightens. “Oh, excellent. It’s supposed to be cursed. I ordered it that way.”

“You deliberately ordered a cursed rug?”

“Yes.”

“...that seems more like something I’d expect Conju to do,” Rhodin muses. “But, good for you. Protective furniture isn’t a bad idea. We’ll send it along to your rooms then.”

Cliopher does not correct him. He’s been writing back and forth with Lazo and the kunà for ages about ways to practice Aōteketētana. Finally the kunà suggested they talk to the zamà.

So for once Cliopher dismisses his pages and secretaries as soon as he reaches his rooms. Franzel has the bundle waiting, and Cliopher instructs him to set it up in the dance-room. He changes into less-restrictive clothing and tries it out.

The mat is exactly the right size for Aōteketētana, with a stiffly-connected block of fabric where Cliopher can stand before jumping in.

But first Cliopher leaps without aiming for precision. His feet touch the rug. An electric jolt goes through his body; the zamà’s curse.

Cliopher stumbles off with an oath. Then he shakes out his foot and grins.

It takes a few tries to figure out where he can stand, but within an hour Cliopher’s dancing Aōteketētana again.

...he does have to kick out Ke’ea, though, when she tries to chew on the rug. He should probably tell Franzel to keep the puppy out of there.

One day Cliopher gets dressed and, smoothing his hands automatically over the little labels on his socks, realizes he hasn’t seen anything in nearly a year.

He sits with that a minute, rubbing the fabric. It startles him mostly that he didn’t notice. Oh, he wants to see. He frequently wishes he could see things. But not nearly as much as before.

He has work he loves, and his lord, and good friends. He is accustomed to this life. And he doesn’t know if his eyes will ever start working again, for some brief time. Maybe this is it; maybe the taboos have finally settled, and Cliopher will be blind forever.

Well… that’s alright, he decides. And Cliopher grabs his puzzle-cube and leaves to meet his scribe about the day’s agenda.