Chapter Text
“Are you well, Sayo Mdang?”
“My lord?” Cliopher asked, blinking in surprise. He glanced up from his notes on the provincial tax reform proposal that Kiri and Aioru had finalized while he was in the Vangavaye-ve to see what had caught his lord’s attention, what had prompted the unusual question.
His Radiancy stood across the room, his back to the window overlooking the city of Solaara, his beautiful lion eyes studying Cliopher with puzzlement, curiosity, concern. “Are you well?” his lord asked again. “We cannot imagine that you don’t have strong feelings about this particular proposal, or about the concerns raised by the Council of Princes, and yet you have barely said a word in its defense this morning.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Cliopher said quickly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. His lord wasn’t wrong. He did have opinions about the proposal, it was only that— “I didn't mean to give our work any less than my full attention.”
His lord waved a hand dismissively. “Our question was not meant as censure, Sayo Mdang. It’s simply—” The Sun-on-Earth paused, as if trying to find the right words. “We know that you have just returned from a visit to your family. If you found something amiss, we can certainly give you additional time…”
“Oh!” Cliopher bit back his own exclamation. He’d been at home for far too long if he could so casually interrupt his lord, his Radiancy. He bowed his head low over his desk. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord. It’s not that at all. Everyone in my family is healthy.”
“We are glad to hear it, Sayo Mdang.” His Radiancy’s words were quiet, contemplative, with a hint of some deep emotion Cliopher was afraid to name; in anyone else he’d have called it envy.
Perhaps it was envy, Cliopher thought as his lord turned abruptly towards the window. Despite the brilliant midmorning sun, his Radiancy’s form remained shadowed by the window’s deep eaves, built in the time when the emperor was considered so sacred that they could not be touched by the direct light of the Sun or the Moon lest they be stolen away like the emperor Aurelius Magnus.
“My family is a bunch of busybodies,” Cliopher said without thinking, not wanting his lord to be envious, or sad, or to feel like he was missing something—much as Cliopher was certain he was. As his Radiancy’s secretary, he was well aware that his lord had no relationship with his remaining family to speak of. Neither his great-aunt—the Princess of Xiputl, nor his sister—the Grand Duchess of Damara, had ever requested so much as a private audience with him. “While I was home, they made it abundantly clear that I’m not living up to expectations.”
“What?” His Radiancy whirled around, his expression near furious. “Your family doesn't think it's enough that you’re my Hands, my personal secretary—the head of my government in all but name?”
Cliopher’s eyes widened at his Radiancy’s vehemence. “They don't really have any idea what I do here, my lord,” he explained slowly, ruefully, apologetically.
“They aren’t aware who you work for? Have they never asked? We know you receive a significant number of letters from home. You've shared some of their stories and anecdotes.”
Cliopher winced. “One or two have asked occasionally, but they don't press. Mostly their letters share local news. They don’t ask what I am doing here. They don’t care.” He sighed, thinking of his latest trip home. “And that's the problem.”
His lord frowned as if the very idea that Cliopher’s family didn’t know what he did was a personal afront. “What do you mean?”
“In Islander culture, my lord, my work here does not matter. At home, I have not achieved or obtained any of the traditional markers of status.” It was Cliopher who glanced away this time, turning his attention to the wall containing the door to his lord’s private study. Cliopher had never seen inside—neither had anyone else as far as he knew. It was the one place where his lord was allowed to be alone. “While I was home, my mother made sure to point this out at every opportunity—the fact I’m not married, that I don’t have children, that I don’t have any kind of respectable position in the community. She lamented about her constant disappointment to half of Gorjo City, many of whom decided they needed to question me thoroughly about it.”
Cliopher sighed, the exhaustion he’d felt throughout the second half of his visit rising in his thoughts again. Tears burned in his eyes; he hastened to brush them away with the sleeve of his robe, hoping his Radiancy wasn’t watching him closely enough to realize what he was doing. It was bad enough to vent about his family to the Sun-on-Earth, crying in front of him seemed almost like treason. He only wished his time at home could be as easy as the hours he spent with his lord.
His Radiancy made a soft noise of understanding. “Does your mother want grandchildren?”
“She already has two thanks to my sister—and there are enough Mdang cousins to fill any baby needs she has. I think she just wants to see me settled.” Cliopher let out a choked laugh and shook his head, then turned to meet his lord’s brilliant lion eyes. “She wants me to have status there—which is all about who you marry, where you live, and what you do. Do for the Vangavaye-ve that is.”
“You've done plenty for the Vangavaye-ve,” his Radiancy said sharply. “For the entire world. Who was it who negotiated the peace at Littleridge for me? That alone should be enough—and you’ve done far more for the world since.”
Cliopher felt a rush of warmth at his Radiancy’s confidence, his belief, his conviction. “I doubt most of the Vangavaye-ve even knows that Littleridge exists, my lord. If it happens outside the Ring, it doesn't count.”
His Radiancy hummed thoughtfully. “We shall think on this, Sayo Mdang.”
“Please don't worry over it, my lord,” Cliopher said hastily. “I am quite happy where I am, and I wouldn't leave working with you for anything. I can deal with my family not understanding. It isn't as if it’s a new feeling. I am only sorry that my doldrums have affected our work today. My sincerest apologies.”
His Radiancy’s golden eyes glimmered with some unspoken emotion for a long moment, then he nodded. “Very well, Sayo Mdang,” he said, condescending to give Cliopher a small smile. “Perhaps we should turn our attention to the Nijani Police Services then. We understand that there has been another petition…”
***
A month later, all thoughts of his family tucked back to where they belonged—back into the simplicity that was reading and responding to their letters sharing snippets of life in Gorjo City, which never gave mention to his own life except in remembrances of the past—his Radiancy asked him to stay for lunch.
It happened occasionally enough that Cliopher wasn't surprised, although often such invitations coincided with the need to continue discussing matters they'd been unable to resolve over the course of a given morning. That wasn't the case this time; they'd easily gotten through the required work—so quickly in fact his Radiancy's invitation came a full quarter-hour before Cliopher would normally pack away his writing kit. “Of course, my lord,” Cliopher answered, warmed by the invitation. “It would be my pleasure.”
His Radiancy nodded firmly, as if he hadn't been sure of Cliopher's agreement, then waved towards the balcony door. “Come then, Sayo Mdang. I've told Conju that we will have lunch on the balcony. It's a lovely day out.”
Cliopher's eyebrows raised at the insinuation that his lord had planned the meal in advance. His stomach lurched with sudden concern that he’d done something wrong. His mind circled over all of the work he’d completed recently but he couldn’t pinpoint any issue large enough that his lord might want to discuss it in detail. Thoughts churning with trepidation, Cliopher followed his lord outside.
He smiled in thanks at the guard holding the door, startling a bit when he realized it was Commander Omo rather than either Pikabe or Ato, who’d been acting as his Radiancy’s honour guards for most of the morning. A quick glance showed the commander’s partner was Ser Rhodin, Ludvic’s second and his Radiancy’s spymaster. A knot caught in Cliopher’s throat. Given it was still a few minutes before the Noon bell, the presence of the two guards—who were also two of his closest friends in Solaara—had to have been arranged. What issue could his lord possibly want to discuss that it required the top two members of his guard to be on duty?
As if he could sense Cliopher’s growing anxiety, Ludvic offered him an encouraging look. Cliopher let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. If his friend wasn't overly concerned, perhaps the situation wasn’t nearly as dire as his thoughts were considering. Then, it could be that his Radiancy hadn’t told Commander Omo why he wanted the two guards present. The Sun-on-Earth owed no one explanations after all.
Realizing he was taking far too long to follow his Radiancy, Cliopher hurried across the balcony to where his lord was waiting for him at the table under the red awning. The table was already set for two—his lord’s place obvious from the gold-rimmed plate and matching teacup, not to mention the pair of eating sticks that rested across the plate. The second place was set with equally fine china trimmed distinctively with silver. Given the taboos wrapped around his Radiancy, the demarcation of dishes was critical. Nothing could be shared directly between them.
His Radiancy’s expression was perfectly serene as he took his seat and gestured for Cliopher to do the same. Less than a moment later, as if he’d been waiting for a signal, Conju came out carrying a tray. Cliopher followed his lord’s lead, watching silently as Conju served them each a dish filled with seafood with vegetables cooked in some kind of curried sauce accompanied by slices of flatbread, then poured them each a cup of fragrant tea. “Is there anything else you would like, my lord?” Conju asked when he was finished.
“No. Thank you Conju. Please make sure no one disturbs us.”
“Of course, my lord,” Conju said, offering a low bow to his Radiancy and a vaguely worried look to Cliopher. Cliopher stomach twisted at his friend’s visible concern—his eyes a bit too wide, his hands on the serving tray trembling ever so slightly. His Radiancy’s Groom of the Chamber obviously knew what was going on and he was not untroubled by it.
Cliopher wanted to ask, but even he couldn’t breach etiquette so far. The emperor always spoke first. Said emperor was giving him a strange look. Cliopher tried to breathe normally; he was quite certain he failed, the sound of his breathing too loud in his ears, near gasping. He couldn’t smile, couldn’t joke, not knowing that something was not right and that it somehow revolved around him. He glanced down at his hands, trying to collect his thoughts, to focus, to be ready for whatever his lord wanted to say to him—no matter how distressing it would surely be.
His Radiancy didn’t alleviate the stress of the moment. He simply gave a brief benediction and gestured that they should eat. Cliopher followed his lead again, taking a small bite and chewing it slowly. It was probably delicious—anything served at the table of the Last Emperor was—but he tasted nothing. He ate almost by rote, fighting not to give his lord pointed glances, trying not to worry about what he could have done that his lord was keenly avoiding bringing it up despite having arranged an opportunity to do so.
A private opportunity. Or at least as private as anything involving the Last Emperor of Astandalas could be. Ludvic and Rhodin stood at the doors of the balcony, more than a dozen feet away and partly hidden from view by the placement of the table and chairs. While the two guards could likely hear everything that was said, they were far enough away that if Cliopher wanted to do his lord harm, he’d have a moment to do so. Not, of course, that he ever would, but the guards had to concern themselves with all possibilities. Their distance was an incredible show of trust.
It was a strange dichotomy. Trust beyond measure yet Conju had been anxious. His Radiancy was nervous—although saying so would probably count as treason. But Cliopher had worked with him long enough to know when his Radiancy was studiously avoiding beginning a difficult conversation.
Cliopher struggled to contain his concern, tried to focus on eating. But he made the mistake of looking directly at his lord, meeting his shimmering golden eyes, seeing hesitation and uncertainty and fear in them. His heart skipped a beat. His lord, his Radiancy was somehow afraid. In a burst of shocking courage, Cliopher blurted, “My lord, please, tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
His Radiancy looked up sharply, possibly even more surprised than Cliopher was at the sudden outburst. He stared at Cliopher for an extraordinarily long moment—and then grimaced in a very un-serene manner. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my dear Cliopher,” he said definitively. “I apologize. I was considering how to broach this topic and I did not consider that holding silent might cause you concern.”
Cliopher’s eyes widened—whether at the apology or at the my dear Cliopher, he refused to consider. He grasped onto the tide of relief swelling through him instead. “Please my lord, you can speak to me about anything.”
His Radiancy let out a soft huff. “You say that now, but this is quite a—a sensitive topic. If you take sincere offense, I am not certain I could manage without you…”
Cliopher offered a gentle, encouraging smile, like he would for one of his family. In this moment, if only in this moment, he thought he could consider his lord—”My lord, there is nothing you could say that would ever offend me,” he said, pushing as much reassurance into his words as he could. He paused, tilting his head in thought. “Well, perhaps if you decided to stop the ministerial audits. Given the latest results from the Ministry of Agriculture, that would be offensive….”
His Radiancy laughed. “You have quite the faith in me, Cliopher,” he said quietly, appreciatively, almost wondrously. “We've worked well together for many years. You must know that I hold you in the greatest of esteem. It is my esteem for you, in addition to our…surprisingly similar challenges that made me think of this possibility. I expect it is quite ridiculous, but I couldn't help but consider the idea once I thought of it.”
Cliopher couldn't imagine what kind of challenge he would have in common with the Sun-on-Earth. “My lord?”
“When you came back from your vacation last month, you spoke to me of your family's expectations—of how you’ve disappointed them.” His Radiancy’s eyes blazed hot gold in clear discontent.
“Oh. Yes, my lord,” Cliopher said, blushing at the reminder of how he’d broken down so badly in his lord’s study. He’d hoped his Radiancy wouldn’t care to remember his promise to think on the situation. “It isn’t important—”
His Radiancy raised a hand, stopping Cliopher mid-sentence. “Were you aware that three days after I was brought to Astandalas and made emperor, I was told all of the reasons why I had to marry my sister?” he asked, his tone cold, sharp diamond. “I wasn’t yet crowned, although I was already bound. I couldn’t look her in the eye, I couldn’t touch her—this sister I’d never met. All I could do was protect her, from me and all that would come of a union between us.”
Cliopher’s heart ached. He’d heard the story at one point, in his earliest days in Astandalas, of how the emperor had chosen to allow his sister to mourn her betrothed—who’d died within hours of his father. He’d thought it was kind, sensitive, sensible given the closeness of their relationship; the other pages and secretaries at the time had considered it a grave weakness.
“The only other potential match was a child. Despite all pressure to the contrary, I insisted that I would wait. I had no interest in a girl a third of my age, but what choice did I have? Better a child of sixteen than my sister.” His Radiancy let out a harsh breath. “At least the Fall meant I no longer had to abide by Imperial custom.”
“I can only imagine your relief, my lord,” Cliopher said gently, softly, honestly. The pressure from his family was suddenly nothing, a raging blaze transformed into the vague waft of smoke left after a fire had burned down to ash.
“I could wish that had been the end of it,” his lord said, meeting his eyes fully. The lion’s eyes were bright, bitter, frustrated. “But no. The Princes press constantly for answers. Ministers, bureaucrats, aristocrats that remained in the palace during the Fall and so survived to be a bane on my existence. As I aged, I thought the pressure would lessen. Instead, it has grown far worse. “What about your heir? they ask as if I’d ever allow them to do to a child of mine what was done to me. They want a new dynasty, a new empire, the old empire reborn. They want everything but what I myself want, which is to leave the Empire of Astandalas in ashes and to leave no seed behind from which it can one day be revived.”
Cliopher heard the hatred in his lord’s words, the abhorrence, the absolute loathing. It was devastating, a clear, painful view of the man who'd hidden so far behind his Serene and Radiant Holiness that Cliopher had barely caught the occasional glimpse.
“I have said on countless occasions that I will not marry, not have a child,” his Radiancy said. He frowned, all sharp edges and annoyance. “'Perhaps you'll feel differently one day,' is a grating expression. For all that I am the Last Emperor of Astandalas, it seems that everyone wants to tell me what to do.”
Cliopher wished desperately that he could reach out, offer his lord the comfort of resting his hands on his shoulders, of pressing their foreheads together and simply breathing. Instead, all he could do was fish for words he knew weren't enough even if his lord wasn't expecting anything kind of comfort at all. “I expect that is even more frustrating than my own situation, my lord. At least I know how much my family cares about me. That their concerns and ridiculousness are at least out of kindness rather than self-serving aggrandizement.”
His Radiancy grimaced, then quirked his lips up in a vague semblance of a smile. “And so, the idea—” He cut himself off abruptly, as if hit by sudden reflection.
“My lord?”Cliopher asked after a moment.
“You may have wondered why I was upset when you shared the story of your family.” Cliopher nodded. It had occurred to him. His lord had a world to worry about. The last thing he needed was to worry about something so mundane as his secretary's family.
“That conversation made me realize that of all the people I have ever met, there was only one person who I was certain would never use power for their own gain. One person as committed as I am to ensuring the Empire of Astandalas remains dead and to building a kinder, better world that will survive beyond the eventual death of the Last Emperor. One person who has again and again and again proven their loyalty. Not to me, though I appreciate that, but to the people of Zunidh. I was so furious at your family because they couldn't see that.”
It took far too long for Cliopher to understand what his lord was saying. When he did—”My lord,” he protested.
His Radiancy's eyes glowed with intensity—with the potent magic that circled him when he was doing a great working—and all of that intensity was focused on Cliopher. Cliopher could barely keep from turning his own eyes away. “I'm nothing special, my lord,” he said. “There are many people who would do the same—”
“There is only one Cliopher Mdang,” the Sun-on-Earth said definitively. “And I would consider him a friend if I could.”
Cliopher's entire body burst into flame, fueled by a surge of wonder, of joy—of an impossible, never acknowledged, want. He could not in a thousand years dare to think of his Radiancy as his friend. He was the Serene and Glorious One, the Sun-on-Earth, the Lord of Rising Stars, the Lord of Five Thousand Lands and Ten Thousand Titles, the Last Emperor of Astandalas, and the Lord of Zunidh. To think of him as a friend went far beyond petty treason. But oh how he wanted it—wanted even more than that, Cliopher's subconscious tried to say, providing a different word, a better—
Cliopher had never been one to hide his emotions; he was as open as the proverbial shell on the beach. The Sun-on-Earth smiled at whatever he saw in his face, the light rising in his eyes like the dawn after a storm. His beautiful, long fingers cradled his cup tightly, his hands near trembling, his signet ring glinting against his dark skin. “And so. The proposal,” his Radiancy said matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes on Cliopher. “Let's get married.”
Cliopher didn't have any tea in his mouth, but he managed to choke on the air, sputtering and coughing and utterly unable to speak or think for a moment, a decade, a century. “My lord?” he finally managed.
The Sun-on-Earth laughed, and it wasn't abrasive or sharp or cold, hard diamond—it was brilliant, joyful, dare Cliopher say it, radiant. “Oh, your face, Cliopher! But consider it. It would be a simple answer to all your family's concerns. It would discombobulate the court most magnificently. It would mean neither of us would need to listen to another word about expectations.”
Cliopher couldn't help but stare at his Radiancy. No, he wasn't looking at the Sun-on-Earth; he was looking clearly at the inner man, the one who'd he'd seen lurking behind the serene mein for a long, long time but never fully recognized. He shook his head, befuddled by the idea of the emperor as two very different people. The one for show and the one who was the real Radiancy. When Cliopher didn't speak—he couldn't speak—his Radiancy's face calmed back into the far more recognizable serenity. “Well. I thought it a most amusing and delightful proposition.”
“You shouldn't get married for amusement, my lord,” Cliopher said without thinking.
His Radiancy raised a single eyebrow. “Why not?” he asked. “It seems a far better reason than many.”
Why not, indeed. Cliopher couldn't think of an immediate answer.
Possibly realizing that he'd stumped Cliopher into silence, his Radiancy added, “It wouldn't all be for our amusement, of course. Regardless of the fiction behind it, I would gain a consort who I could most assuredly share power with—who would help me rule Zunidh fully and well. And you'd gain the ability to appease your family while gaining the rank you'd need to implement all those ideas you have to transform the government. And don't tell me you don't. I know what you've done to get the sea train built, to get the Lights open to anyone. To fix the post. If you don't have a five-hundred-page plan for the future government of Zunidh, you aren't the exceptional statesman I know you to be.”
Cliopher blushed, then coughed. “It's more like eight hundred,” he admitted. “—perhaps a bit more.”
His Radiancy laughed, fully and wholeheartedly. “Of course it is, my dear Cliopher. And I expect you never thought you'd be able to implement it. This—this would let you.”
Cliopher shook his head, somewhat bemused. “It seems quite an excessive move, my lord. It wouldn't take making me your consort to implement a new system of government. Truly, it would simply take time and dedication—both of which you have from me already.”
“It might not, but it could make it easier?” There was a slight, almost plaintive, note in the Sun-on-Earth's voice.
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But I presume it would also make it much more difficult? I can't imagine that choosing a consort would be as simple as drafting a new proclamation.”
His Radiancy grimaced, then sighed audibly, ruefully, regretfully—as if Cliopher's all-too-real thoughts were like an adult popping a child's soap bubble. “Ah. Well. That is one of the many reasons I've never raised this possibility with you regardless of how often it has crossed my mind.”
Cliopher swallowed, suddenly far too hot. His lord had thought of marrying him often?
His Radiancy set down his cup, absently rubbed the fingers of one hand with the other. “The purification rituals for a consort, to allow touch without fear, are exhaustive.”
Touch? Cliopher's mind froze. No one touched the Sun-on-Earth. No one. He noted that his Radiancy mentioned the fact in passing, as if it was a simple side effect of ritual and magic. Then, his Radiancy hadn't touched another living being without causing death since before the Fall, since before he'd become emperor. The very idea of touch was possibly more of a dream to him than reality.
“There's also the fact that a consort would have their life greatly restricted. They would receive a lot more attention. They would have very little privacy. They would be guarded day and night. They would be wrapped in a layer of magic that would always be there—making them permanently, unequivocally, safe.” His Radiancy paused, then shook his head. “I'm not certain we could trust such magic. Magical bonds are—I do not believe such a thing would be required.”
Cliopher was at a loss for words, his mind unable to process the fine details, too awash with thoughts and practicalities, the impossibility of it all. And more, he couldn't help but feel deeply sad, regretful, sorrowful that his lord, his Radiancy couldn't even begin to consider having a normal relationship—that he likely didn't even know what one was because the ones he'd been offered had been so undeniably awful. To think that the only relationship his lord felt safe to even consider formalizing was one based not on love but on the simple and sole basis of being able to trust the person involved.
The fact that the person the Sun-on-Earth trusted more than anyone on Zunidh was him was not something Cliopher could dwell on so he tucked it away close to his heart, a fierce little fire to hold and protect and cherish.
He must have been silent for too long. His Radiancy glanced away, towards the railing of the balcony and the city beyond. “I know. I know the whole idea is—” His Radiancy huffed again, let out a soft, near desolate sigh. “You need not concern yourself unduly, Sayo Mdang. I did not actually expect you to agree. I was more concerned you'd be offended by the very thought of it rather than finding the possibility as…delightful chaotic as I do.”
Cliopher could feel his Radiancy retreating from the idea quickly and wasn't quite certain what to make of it. After so long working with his lord, it was disconcerting to see him so achingly vulnerable. As if this proposal was more than the humorous thought he was making it out to be. As if it mattered.
He would do anything for his lord. He would see him as a man. He would look him in the eye. He would tell him jokes. He would commit any treason. He would reinvent the government to fulfill his every hope for the future. But could he do this? Cliopher's thoughts stuttered to a stop, the implications too massive, too ridiculous, too impossible.
As the Sun-on-Earth made a hasty retreat from the idea, began to barricade the inner man behind his Serene and Radiant Holiness once more, Cliopher held up a hand, stopping his lord in a manner the court would deem particularly inappropriate—far beyond treason. “My lord,” he said slowly, meeting his Radiancy’s brilliant, beautiful lion’s eyes, trying to find the words to bridge the gap rapidly widening between them. “I assure you, I do not find the idea offensive, nor do I think ill of you for considering it or proposing it, whether in jest or…” He trailed off abruptly, uncertain. Surely the proposal could never be real.
Shoving that thought aside, he focused on bare truth. “My lord, that your trust in me is so strong means everything to me.” He glanced away, towards where Ludvic and Rhodin were guarding his Radiancy from so much farther away than Cliopher had ever seen his lord’s guards stand, before turning back to meet his lord’s eyes again.
His Radiancy held his gaze for what could have been seconds or centuries, then let out an audible breath, revealing a startling amount of pent-up concern. “But such a thing,” Cliopher continued before his lord could interject. “The ramifications are too enormous to decide in a moment of amusement. The question deserves proper reflection.”
His Radiancy's eyes widened slightly. Was he surprised that Cliopher was not dismissing his proposal out of hand? Was he grateful he could continue to be amused by the possibility for a while longer before it was shattered by reality? Neither of those seemed to fit his expression. If it were anyone else, Cliopher might dare call the look on his lord’s face hope.
“Very well,” his Radiancy said after a long moment. “I should know that you of all people, my dear Cliopher, would never recommend a course of action without thorough consideration.” The Sun-on-Earth quirked his lips in a tiny, not-quite easy smile. “But do not worry yourself unduly. There are other options. I could always make you the Duke of Ikiano—”
Cliopher cringing hard at the idea of being granted an imperial title involving his home. “Absolutely not! If I thought my family was upset at me now—”
His Radiancy gave a soft, gentle laugh. “And on that note, my dear Cliopher, I believe I have a meeting with Prince Rufus of Amboloyo shortly. I should go prepare.”