Chapter Text
1. Aioru
Cliopher knew, of course, that things would be busy when they returned to Solaara in the days leading up to the Jubilee. It was no small thing, to see the last remnants of empire swept away to make place for something wonderful and new. And then of course, there were the endless plans and preparations to be made in the lead up to a Grand Event—Cliopher doubted the government of Zunidh would ever be fully free of such bloated ceremonials—no, not even an Astandalas fell a second time.
What he wasn't expecting was for so many people to want to see him . Certainly he had been Lord Chancellor for a number of years and—very briefly, as it had happened—Viceroy to the Last Emperor, but he was retired now! And yes, the circumstances of his retirement were both unintended and rather unorthodox, but the transition of power had gone very smoothly, all things considered. And it wasn't as though his tenure as head of the Zuni world government had been of the sort to win him friends. Yet hardly a quarter bell seemed to pass without a page puffing up to the door with a fresh invitation from some grand personage or another.
Oh, perhaps he might still be supposed to have the ear of the man who was still—for a few more days at least—Lord Magus of the world, even if the true nature of their relationship had not as yet been revealed. (He touched the efanoa where it lay below the neck of his tunic.) He and Fitzroy had decided—together!—not to reveal that which was no one's business but their own, especially since the court was sure to misapprehend matters. It wasn't that Cliopher minded explaining, exactly, but it seemed an unnecessary chore when the main goal was to get Fitzroy free and clear as cleanly as possible. And Fitzroy had agreed!
But it was hardly a secret that he had been for many years in the Last Emperor's confidence and favour. It made a certain sense that courtiers might make a last ditch effort to have that favour levied to their benefit, although why they might imagine that Cliopher would be inclined to favouritism now after all these years, or what they thought might be accomplished in less than a week's time he could scarcely fathom. It was all exceedingly tiresome and he would be well glad to be shot of it.
“I've half a mind to send a message to Aioru, begging him to loan Tully back to me as appointments secretary,” he said to Rhodin, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Why don't you?”
“She's a civil servant!” Cliopher answered, a little scandalised. “And I'm—”
“The architect of the entire world government as it stands to this day?”
“Retired,” Cliopher said, firmly.
But as though the talk had summoned him from the aether, the next page to tumble panting through the breakfast room door bore a message from Aioru himself, inviting Cliopher to an audience over dinner.
“I suppose he'll want to show me how things have been getting on,” Cliopher said. He had not been immune to the impulse to show off for his elders when he was Aioru's age.
“Aren't you retired?” Rhodin asked, around a mouth full of pastry.
“I'm still interested,” Cliopher said.
Interested—and, to be truthful, a little concerned.
“I hope you're not making a habit of working through dinner,” he said to Aioru hours later.
It was, admittedly, a much finer dinner than Cliopher had ever managed in all of his late nights—several courses, and accompanied by a wine that even Cliopher with his unrefined palate had to concede was rather moreish.
“This coming from you, sir?” Aioru asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cliopher laughed, acknowledging the hit.
“I could hardly wish you to follow my example. And please, no need for the formalities. I'm a private citizen and you are head of the mundial government. Call me—” ‘Kip’ was a little too intimate for one who had been a protégé but never quite a friend, but— “Cliopher.”
“Cliopher,” Aioru echoed, investing the syllables with an entirely undue reverence, and bestowed upon Cliopher a brilliant smile. “And no, I don't make a habit of it. But then, I hardly consider this work.”
“I stand corrected. Now, back to telling me about these reforms to the Justice system.”
It was, Cliopher had to admit, a very pleasant evening. Aioru was brilliant and animated and full of the stubborn idealism of youth. Cliopher could hardly have dreamed of a worthier successor, and told him so. Aioru had gone quite red in the face and stammered a little—clearly the wine was hitting him harder than it had Cliopher. When the meal was finished and Aioru invited him with a peculiar diffidence to take a turn in the gardens, Cliopher agreed at once, as much to give Aioru an opportunity for fresh air as to see the gardens themselves, which were admittedly very fine.
The night air was warm and sweet with blossoms. Cliopher walked side by side with Aioru, buzzing pleasantly with wine, and engaging discourse with an energetic young person, and the deep contentment of knowing he had left the world better than he'd found it.
“We never spoke much, did we, in the old days, man to, er—” Cliopher recalled too late that Aioru might not resonate with such a designation, and substituted, “intimately like this.” Aioru stumbled and Cliopher put out a hand to steady him. “I'm glad we had the opportunity, before I depart for good.”
Aioru whirled around to face him so suddenly that Cliopher took a step back. He was breathing fast—surely this meagre exertion hadn't produced such a dramatic effect? Should Cliopher say something about the benefits of regular exercise?
Before he had a chance, however, Aioru spoke.
“Sir— Cliopher. You know I've always... admired you, more than almost—” He cut short, looking a little overcome.
“Yes, you mentioned,” Cliopher said indulgently. “The man who came looking for the sea, wasn't it?”
It was funny, if not entirely unpleasant, to be the subject of such youthful enthusiasms.
“Well, yes,” Aioru said. In the moonlight his eyes were very bright. “But not only— That is— You know about— about me and Tanaea?”
“That you are very particular friends?”
It was not right or becoming to project the pattern of his own relationship onto his successors, but he did find it… pleasing that Aioru and the soon-to-be Lady Magus of Zunidh should be so close.
“Very particular, ah. Yes, we. We have an understanding. But we're not— That is. Like I said, we have an understanding, and…”
Really, weren't young people supposed to manage their drink better than their elders? Cliopher gave an encouraging smile, and waited for Aioru to untangle himself.
“We have a list,” Aioru blurted. “Of people we especially admire, and we both agreed that if we ever got the chance, and— well, if not now, then when?”
“A list?” Cliopher laughed. Aioru did remind him so very keenly of himself at times. “How organised of you! May I see it?”
“I—” Aioru looked briefly confounded. “It's not exactly a physical— That is. I suppose... Well. There's you, of course,” said with a shy smile and the faintest skim of a tooth over a lower lip, “and— and the Grand Duchess—”
Cliopher nodded, approving. He rather admired her himself.
“—and Ser Rhodin,” Aioru said, in such a rush it took a second for Cliopher to parse the name.
“Rhodin? Really?”
Not that Rhodin didn't have many admirable qualities, but he could hardly see how they would be relevant to a young person of Aioru's interests. Still:
“You should tell him,” Cliopher said. “I'm sure he'd be very gratified to hear it.”
Aioru blinked. “Really? Do you— do you think so?”
“Oh, yes.” Rhodin had always liked to hear well of himself.
“I. Well. Perhaps I— He's on Tanaea's list as well. I don't suppose you think he'd...?”
“Really? Both of you?”
Aioru nodded.
“Then you should absolutely tell him,” Cliopher said firmly. “Both of you.” Even if it would make Rhodin insufferably smug, and Conju insufferably irritated at Rhodin's insufferable smugness.
“Well,” Aioru said, rather struck. “Perhaps we will.”
Cliopher hesitated, and then decided—or perhaps the wine decided for him—to speak a little more freely. Perhaps he was being indiscreet, but— To hell with it. He was retired, and in a week he would be on his way home with Fitzroy at his side.
“I'm very pleased you and Tanaea have such a close relationship. You remind me very much of me and his Radiancy in that respect.”
Now Aioru seemed almost astonished. “Do we?”
“Oh yes. Although I'm glad you're able to start off on a more equal footing. It took his Radiancy and me years to come to—”
He cut short. There was such a thing as speaking too freely, especially since what he was saying was technically treason, at least for a few more days.
“I... hadn't realised,” Aioru said slowly. “That it was like that.” There was a long pause, where he appeared to be struggling with something. Then he said, firmly: “I'm very happy for you both.”
Cliopher smiled with all that was in his heart, and tilted his face to the night sky.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “So am I.”
When he returned to his rooms, it was to find Fitzroy waiting for him.
“My lord!” he exclaimed, but Fitzroy shook his head and made the gesture that brought down the wall of silence.
“We're alone,” he said.
Cliopher smiled and stepped forward to grasp his fanoa by the arms. “Beloved.”
Fitzroy sighed and leant his forehead down against Cliopher's.
“You're out late,” he observed, after they had drawn apart a little.
“I was having dinner with Aioru.”
“And more than dinner, if my nose does not mistake me.”
Cliopher laughed and put his hand up to smell his breath.
“There was some very nice wine,” he admitted.
“Plied my fanoa with drink, did he? The better to winkle out all your secrets of governance, no doubt.”
“Oh, those he could have for the asking. No, he—”
Cliopher hesitated a moment, wondering if he was perhaps betraying a confidence. But it was only Fitzroy. He had told himself he'd keep no more secrets from his fanoa.
“He plied me with drink so he could tell me how much he admired me!”
He laughed again, blushing now a little to say it aloud.
Fitzroy's hands, which had been chafing gently up and down Cliopher's arms, stilled.
“Did he, now?”
“Oh yes. He seemed very shy about it. It was sweet. He told me he had a special list of people he admired, and I was on it. So was Rhodin,” he added conscientiously.
“And then what happened?”
Fitzroy's tone was very cool, very neutral—approaching almost the old imperial serenity. It was what Cliopher had feared for him, a little—the ease with which one might fall into old habits of being.
He reached up and tugged Fitzroy's hands from his arms, then stroked down his forearms to take his hands.
“And then I came home.”
“Home?”
Yes, that was definitely a Radiant arch to Fitzroy's brow.
“To you,” Cliopher said simply, and Fitzroy let out a shuddering sigh, and took Cliopher into his arms, and yes, there it was—home.
“Your setdowns get more devastating by the day, my dear,” Fitzroy said into the cradle of Cliopher's neck.
“I improve with daily practice.”
Fitzroy hummed against him. Then, after a moment he said, voice carefully light:
“Did Aioru say anything else?”
Cliopher frowned with the effort of recollection. The wine had hit him harder than he'd realised, and everything that wasn't Fitzroy seemed very far away, and not terribly important.
“Nothing worth recounting. Why?”
“Oh,” said Fitzroy. “No reason.”