CAIUS

We had already reached the Ke-Han gardens, but still I had no idea who had decided that General Alcibiades should be among the delegation of peace to the capital. Presumably it must have been the Esar who made that choice, as he was the supreme ruler of all Volstov’s subjects, but I had never known the Esar to exhibit even the slightest sense of humor. Such peculiar capriciousness simply wasn’t his style, and while I was personally amused, I was also bewildered. This suggested that there must have been some other element in his decision-making process, which meant that Alcibiades had some hidden quality that did not become apparent even when one shared a carriage with him from one capital city to another.

So as yet, I could see no reason beyond accident or my own good luck for such an unexpected anomaly to have occurred right here, and in my carriage of all places.

In short, I was delighted, although I suspected the other members of our party did not see eye to eye with me on the matter. There were nine of us altogether, seemingly gathered from all corners of Volstov. Representing the magicians were myself, of course, alongside the charming Wildgrave Ozanne, and Marcelline, whom I’d met during our tiresome sojourn in the Basquiat. The two of us would have so much catching up to do, since the last time we’d spoken we’d both been somewhat under the weather.

Alcibiades, I supposed, was part of some sort of misguided military representation that included two lieutenants whose names I hadn’t bothered learning. They seemed like dreadfully boring sorts, in any case. We had a scholar by the name of Marius—another survivor from our little study group at the Basquiat—and bringing up the rear were Margrave Josette and our leader Fiacre, who I could only assume were both here to represent good common sense.

In order to somewhat soften the blow that the Ke-Han were the conquered nation—and, I presumed, in order to avoid causing an international incident wherever possible, since most of us were quite sick of war—we had retired our more garish colors. None of us wore red, the Esar’s royal color and favored for generations among the court, except as subtle reminders—hints of satin lining, perhaps, or the stripes on one general’s regulation jacket. We did this to show respect, if not deference, for we had conquered the people across the Cobalts despite how nearly they had come to conquering us.

The Ke-Han much preferred the color blue. Again, I was delighted, for blue suited my complexion much better than Volstov’s overly assertive red. During my exile, I wore blue at every possible occasion, but one couldn’t be so rash before the Esar himself. This diplomatic mission was my opportunity, therefore, to dress as I pleased, and I was one of many such peacocks trussed up in conciliatory colors—though thankfully I wasn’t one of the awkward soldiers adjusting their tight collars or the red-faced magicians frowning out the windows of their carriage.

Rather, I was dressed all in splendid midnight blue, though it was accented with the aforementioned discreet red lining, and I was thrilled to have the chance to dress so. Also, it appeared to be causing Alcibiades great displeasure, firstly because he was my lone carriage companion, and secondly, because he himself was dressed entirely in his red uniform.

When first we’d met—weeks ago during that unpleasant period of quarantine in our own Basquiat—I admit I found him somewhat akin in coloring and in shagginess to the long-haired golden dogs that were favored by the Esarina a hundred years ago, and could thus be found in every single portraiture of that period, slobbering all over everything and looking wildly pleased with themselves.

Alcibiades, however, never looked wildly pleased with himself, or indeed with anything. In the carriage, he simply looked wildly red. When I broached the subject with him—quite tactfully I thought—I was met with something resembling a horse’s snort and a brusque, “I’m Volstovic, not a bastion-bloody Ke-Han.”

I liked the man already. It was at some point between Thremedon and Ke-Han land that I decided we would be friends, although I was yet uncertain how to make this equally obvious to Alcibiades himself.

By the time we reached the Ke-Han gardens, which were both opulent and refined at once—nothing at all like the wildly overgrown greenhouses with their vibrant colors and abuse of perfectly good tulips that one is subject to in Thremedon—the strict formality of the place made me realize that there would hardly be any time for such diversions as friendship. The gardens flanked us on either side, deceptively tranquil. The palace itself rose before us, tiered roofs dark blue and black. And, standing still as little statues, there were at least fifty retainers in the bleached white courtyard, stark and square and rather like a box.

Their faces betrayed nothing. They might just as well have been statues for all their eyes revealed.

Our carriages erupted into their world with the stomping and whinnying of horses, the commotion of wheels on the sand, and the immediate chaos that began as nine delegates from Volstov stepped out of their carriages all at once.

Fiacre kept his composure best, stepping neatly from his conveyance only to turn right around and offer a hand to his carriage companion, Margrave Josette. She declined the gesture, stepping down and stirring up a delicate cloud of white dust with the prim swish of her skirts. Next, and nearest to us, was Wildgrave Ozanne, who was busily adjusting the length of his sleeves as Marcelline pursed her lips next to him, looking relatively unimpressed with the whole affair.

“Hello, my dear,” I murmured as an aside.

“Greylace,” she said, looking wary but nonetheless unsurprised.

On our other side were Lieutenants Casimiro and Valery, their names coming to me in a fortuitous coincidence with Alcibiades’ grunted greetings. They looked very uncomfortable in their new uniforms, especially Casimiro, the larger of the two. He kept glancing to one side at Alcibiades, as though to somehow divine the mystery of how he’d managed to wear his own reds across the border unscathed.

Lastly, and quite alone, that fortunate creature, came Marius, a scholar at the ’Versity as well as a magician associated with the Basquiat. In fact, now that I counted our party, the numbers were overwhelmingly in the favor of magicians, myself included. This meant that the only men without Talent were Casimiro and Valery, though Alcibiades’ Talent was as good as nonexistent for all he used it.

What a curious group. We seemed more like a circus than Volstov’s best—the soldiers looking like clowns, and the magicians from the Basquiat even more so. For a man as uncomfortable around magicians as the Esar was, he’d certainly chosen a great number of them to represent his interests. Or perhaps he merely considered us expendable, should any trouble arise.

And amidst the chaos, there was Alcibiades, a bright red thumb in the noonday heat.

I drew up close to him, the silk of my blue jacket—cut especially after the Ke-Han style—rustling about me.

“One of these men is rather unlike the rest,” I murmured, taking his arm.

He stiffened, as if I had just produced a dead mouse from his pocket. His eyes were alert, and I decided then that he must be far more intelligent than the fashionably long-haired, golden dog that I too had once owned as a pet, to see what all the fuss was about; though her eyes had been very kind, they had never once been what any man might label “alert.”

“All the same to me,” he muttered in an undertone, which was more of a reply than I’d got to many of my observations during the long carriage ride. I felt especially heartened.

He was alert, but not particularly perceptive, then, for there were certainly differences in the men ranged before us, close together as though in defensive battle formation. Surely it wouldn’t be prudent to spend all my time among the Ke-Han thinking in terms of our warring past, though, and I dismissed the thought as swiftly as it had come. Our men and women of Volstov began to arrange themselves close as well, as though they’d been prodded into a showing of proper etiquette by the Ke-Han delegation arrayed before us.

We didn’t manage to stand nearly as straight or as still as they did, though.

We’d been counseled before coming over, by three separate professors from the ’Versity no less, that the culture of the Ke-Han was one deeply fixed in ceremony and that our most royal presence the Esar would be vastly disappointed if any of our number derailed the course of diplomacy simply by erring in decorum. Subsequently, our preparation for the journey had included an intensive course in ceremony, which I had thoroughly enjoyed. There was a certain grace and purpose of reason about all their cold and calm rules that I found quite fascinating. It was a shame I’d found no one to share my enthusiasm with, but that would soon change once I’d brought Alcibiades around. It would be more difficult, perhaps, than training a dog, but then I was accustomed to such challenges.

One of the Ke-Han diplomats stepped forward—not the one I’d singled out, but the one standing just over his shoulder. He wore his hair tied back in the thick-braided style of their generals, though I hadn’t had the proper time to study the significance of each plait. Indeed, it was a shame my own hair was not quite long enough yet to adopt a similar style, for I thought myself rather in need of such a change, and surely it would be a most flattering display of solidarity. The diplomat clasped his hands and bowed low to our arrival party. Unlike our own clothing in varying patterns of the same shade, the men of the Ke-Han were dressed in many different colors, with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Each, however, wore a sash of midnight blue that denoted their patriot status in what I felt was a very tasteful and stylish display. Perhaps I could speak with Alcibiades about doing the same, though perhaps that conversation would be better saved for later, once I had discerned the best possible way of phrasing it. I could be quite convincing when I put my mind to it.

“Welcome,” said the diplomat, speaking as though he could not quite wrap his tongue around our thick Volstovic vowels. The Ke-Han language was quick and darting, quite musical and lovely in its own way; but it was on conqueror’s terms that we had come, and even on foreign soil it was to be our men who dictated the terms of the treaty.

I was a velikaia, and even though my Talent lay in creating visions and not reading minds, I could still sense the animosity behind each impassive face.

“We have prepared rooms for your arrival,” the diplomat continued, slow but certain of his wording. “Shortly we will dine, then begin our talks.”

Some of the men seemed surprised at this, though I myself was only too grateful not to be leaping headfirst from carriage to conference without even so much as a hot bath in between. Whatever could be said of the Ke-Han—and I was certain I’d heard the bulk of it in recent years—their hospitality was a marvelous thing. At my side, Alcibiades snorted—though whether it was out of some specific affront or the burden of having to bear any length of time among the Ke-Han, I couldn’t say. Knowing him only as well as I did, though, I could imagine that he’d been eager to dive into the talks straightaway. Perhaps his ideal would be for us to have been finished by nightfall, though among our number there were a great many men who enjoyed the sound of their own voices a little too much for that to be a possibility.

The diplomat clapped his hands, and into the courtyard filed a line of men and women in robes the color of ripe persimmon. They bore lanterns and kept their eyes averted to the floor. Like the diplomats, they maintained a stony silence of expression that I would have admired were it not for the creeping loneliness of the thing. Surely, outside the confines of diplomacy, it would not be amiss upon occasion to express a human emotion, and I would have said as much to Alcibiades if for a moment I thought he might appreciate the irony in my words.

We were going to have such high times, he and I.