Phoenix extravagant, p.13
Phoenix Extravagant, page 13
Jebi had to admit that this was one problem that hadn’t occurred to them. {We’ll keep you out of the rain,} they said, a promise they weren’t sure they could keep.
After the bath, they returned to their room, fell onto their mat, and collapsed asleep. They had turbulent, inchoate dreams that might have involved dragons and fire and storms; or perhaps it was the last remnants of their illness. Whatever the case, they didn’t wake until well into the next day.
Vei was sitting at their table, with a covered meal tray, when Jebi woke. “What—?” they began. They didn’t remember her entering.
“I heard about your quarrel with Shon,” Vei said. Her face was intent, almost stern. “Has he troubled you before?”
Jebi blinked, trying to figure out what Vei was talking about, when what they really wanted to do was attack the meal tray. Their appetite had returned—surely a sign that the worst of the sickness was over, right? Then the memory of the quarrel flashed before them, and they flushed.
“I was too harsh,” they said. They hadn’t meant for Shon to get into trouble. Although—“There’s been no impropriety, if that’s what you mean, but I should have asked myself why he’s the only one who willingly interacts with me.” Jebi realized what they’d just implied and said, “I mean—”
The corner of Vei’s mouth crooked upward. “I’m not taking offense, unless it’s on your behalf. If you think no action is warranted at this time—”
Jebi blanched. “Oh, no, no.”
Vei nodded once, firmly. “Let me know if anything changes.” She added, with a note of curiosity, “It would have been the same in the Ministry of Art, you know. Part of the duelist prime’s duty is to ensure that the bounds of honor are enforced.”
This was an aspect of working with the Razanei that Jebi had never thought much about. Oh, they’d known that each ministry had a duelist prime, as had the embassy, back before the conquest, but their distaste for the profession had prevented them from looking more deeply into the matter. If only they’d known...
Vei wasn’t done. “You shouldn’t have been adventuring topside, not without your watcher. Especially when you need your rest.”
Shit. How could they have forgotten that Vei was also here to keep an eye on them? The guards would report directly to her. “I missed the sunlight so much,” they said. They didn’t even have to fake the miserable note in their voice. “Electric light isn’t the same.”
“It’s an unfortunate consequence of our location, yes,” Vei said. “I heard you’d been experimenting with a new mask for Arazi? Nehen says you didn’t run the new grammar past them.”
“I was so sure it would work,” Jebi said. “But there’s no change.” They had to keep Vei from insisting that they return the old one. “I wanted to leave it on, see if there was a long-term effect.”
{Thank you,} Arazi said.
A crease formed between Vei’s brows. “I’d like you to run the new grammar by Nehen. They might have some insights.”
Jebi desperately wanted to escape this line of questioning. I need to distract her—“I’m not the first member of my family that you’ve had dealings with,” they blurted out.
Shit, what had led them to choose that particular distraction? But it was too late. They’d spoken; they were committed.
Vei’s eyes widened. She leaned forward ever so slightly. “You don’t look familiar, not in that way,” Vei said. With no particular emphasis, she added, “I remember everyone I have ever dueled. I would have noticed a resemblance.”
Remember, Jebi told themself, in a desperate attempt to avoid drowning in the shadows of those dark eyes, or to stop noticing the smell of incense that drifted from her skin and hair. Remember that she could kill you as easily as scissors cut paper.
Jebi swallowed once, twice. Their mouth had gone dry. “It wasn’t a blood relative,” they said, “she didn’t look like people of my lineage. Her name was Jia.”
Vei was utterly focused on them. “Then it was during the war,” she said. “Those were the only opponents whose names I didn’t know.”
Jebi bit back their revulsion. They remembered the chaos of those early battles, and how they had hid with Bongsunga in the old apartment, hoping that no one would smash it open. Soldiers had, once; not even Razanei soldiers, but Hwagugin deserters. They raided what was left of the rice wine and cinnamon punch. Jebi had never forgotten the terror that the two of them would have their throats slit by their own people. Bongsunga had never spoken of it afterward, and Jebi had been too afraid to bring it up.
They didn’t know why they’d expected Vei to blanch at the name, or show some reaction. But if they’d thought about it, they would have realized that, duelist or soldier, people wouldn’t be standing around shouting their lineages at each other. At least not during an invasion, as opposed to a formal duel.
“It was war,” Vei said, “but nevertheless, she was important to you. You’re an artist—would you draw her?”
It wasn’t an apology, quite. Jebi shivered. They remembered Jia vividly; remembered how she had always been showing off with fancy, wildly impractical sword-moves, to Bongsunga’s delight. Bongsunga had laughed a lot more, in those days.
Silently, Jebi pulled out their sketchbook and flipped to an empty page. Picked up a pencil. They began sketching, starting with construction lines that they hadn’t relied upon in a long time, then proceeded to fill in details.
They’d intended to draw Jia the way Vei would have met them. As a soldier, in her uniform, a little rumpled the way she’d always been despite all her complaints about her sergeant. With her sword, inadequate as it would prove against Razanei rifles—and, ultimately, a Razanei blade.
Instead, what emerged from their pencil was a depiction of Jia at home—and not just Jia, but also Bongsunga. The two of them embracing, Jia lifting Bongsunga. Jia’s fiendish grin, Bongsunga’s smile like sunrise.
When Jebi had finished, Vei reached out and touched an empty corner of the page, her narrow face taut with an emotion Jebi couldn’t name. Regret, perhaps. “That one’s your sister,” she said, pointing. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Jebi said. “She goes by Gyen Bongsunga.”
“I remember. From the deputy minister’s report.”
Well, at least Vei wasn’t pretending she didn’t know how Jebi had been blackmailed into working for Armor.
“We are not enemies,” Vei said softly. It wasn’t the first time she had expressed the sentiment. Then: “You should eat. I have been remiss.”
Bongsunga will never forgive me, Jebi thought. At the moment they weren’t sure they cared. After all, for all that their sister meant to them, the last time they’d seen her, she had turned them into a tool of the revolution.
{I have to keep distracting her,} Jebi told Arazi, not sure whether they were making excuses to themself or to the dragon. Did mechanical dragons have any insight into affairs of the heart?
{Can I help?} Arazi asked.
Jebi choked back a laugh at the thought of Arazi poking its head in the doorway and making suggestions for lovemaking. “It’s not the food I’m interested in,” they murmured to Vei, bowing to temptation, and reached for her hand.
They expected Vei to draw away, proper as ever. She did not. The strong fingers tightened around Jebi’s own hand. She pulled Jebi into an embrace.
Jebi stiffened for a moment, not because they didn’t want this, but because they did; because they hadn’t thought their heart’s desire might be theirs for the asking. And never mind that even this was artifice, a way to keep Vei from thinking about the all-important matter of Arazi’s new mask. They relaxed, then, and pressed against her. Tilted their head for Vei’s kiss, sweet and deep.
Vei’s body was all wiry strength and sword-curves, subtle musculature and grace. The skin of her neck was unexpectedly delicate despite the sun-browning of her face and hands. She tasted of salt, of sweat, of a faint residue of incense smoke.
Months had passed since the last time Jebi had taken a lover, and they didn’t know how long it had been for Vei. They tugged at Vei’s buttons and laces, fumbled with clasps. Vei laughed deep in the back of her throat and helped them, more leisurely than she had any right to be.
“What’s the hurry?” she asked.
In answer, Jebi kissed her again, and Vei laughed.
Vei had clever fingers, not unusual for a duelist, and an even cleverer tongue. For all her decorousness in her day-to-day life, she knew an astonishing variety of filthy poetry and ballads, which she quoted piecemeal as she kissed and licked and sucked her way along the lines of Jebi’s body. Jebi, less articulate, marked the canvas of her skin in return with teeth and fingernails, savage kisses.
Thankfully, Arazi kept its observations to itself, although Jebi was tangentially aware of its presence in their mind. They didn’t think they could have kept its comments secret if it had made any. They did think that it would probably quiz them about lovemaking at some later, inconvenient time.
Vei had so much hair, a thick nightfall of the stuff, only a little tangled. Jebi took great pleasure in making their way through handfuls of it, working the knots loose with their fingers and performing brushstroke gestures across their own skin and hers with the strands, like invisible calligraphy. Vei found this very entertaining; the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath her skin amused Jebi inordinately.
Much later, Jebi demanded, “Do you not get tired?”, breathless and sated—or so they’d thought.
“Call it martial discipline,” Vei said, and touched them again, in another way entirely. She had exquisite control; could wake whole new harmonies of pleasure with careful inflections of touch. Jebi wondered, a little dreamily, why they hadn’t ever tried sleeping with a duelist before. And then, for another long span of time, thought became impossible again.
Once Vei had finished with them, she rose and dressed, as unhurried as before. “Your food is cold,” she said. “I will have someone bring you a fresh tray, and take away the old.” Jebi was too breathless to respond, but she seemed to take that as a compliment.
After Vei had left, Jebi stared up at the ceiling and thought, What have I done?
JEBI SPENT THE next several days in a whirl of confusion. People figured out rapidly that they’d slept with Vei—not that either of them had been making any attempt to keep quiet. Shon kept his distance, but given their last interaction, Jebi wasn’t much surprised.
Jebi did find out, quite by accident, that duelists prime, by convention, were welcome to take whatever lovers they pleased, so long as it didn’t conflict with their duty. A few of the artisans were gossiping about the matter in the common room when they thought Jebi couldn’t overhear them from the hallway. Jebi was dying to ask whether, like Hwagugin artists, they were properly considered married to their profession. It would have fit with what they understood of Razanei notions of honor. The best person to ask would be Vei herself.
If it had been up to them, they would have luxuriated in the joy of a new lover. But they remained aware of the danger they were in, and Arazi as well.
Jebi spent a couple of late evenings preparing a plausible fake grammar to present to Nehen. It looked similar enough to the mask Arazi currently wore to pass on a superficial inspection, without the incriminating matter of glyphs to allow the dragon to talk to Jebi mind-to-mind. Arazi took great interest in the glyphs, and Jebi enjoyed working with its help.
They couldn’t weasel out of pigment manufacture while doing this, though. Shon had offloaded part of the work onto them, now that they were back.Every time they reduced another artifact or painting or lacquered box, a little part of them shriveled up. The book hadn’t been so bad, because there were hundreds if not thousands of copies of it. But even a student copy of a painting expressed a unique vision, one that disappeared forever when it was destroyed.
{That means books would be the ideal way to mass-produce a source of pigment,} Arazi commented in fascination. {You can always print more of them.}
Jebi blanched when the implications sank in. {We are not telling Armor,} they said faintly. Then they reconsidered. Why not trade a few easily replaceable books in order to save one-of-a-kind artworks and artifacts? Jebi had started to see value even in the ugliest, most worn-down necklaces and combs and scrolls. Nevertheless, they didn’t like the idea of giving Armor an infinite supply of their precious pigments.
As Jebi worked with the mortar and pestle, they imagined someone tearing up one of their paintings, even one of the terrible tigers, and cringed. If they faced any of the dead artists in the afterlife, they would be in for an eternity of punishment. If only they’d thought of this earlier, acted sooner.
They emerged eventually from the workshop to fetch themself more tea. Other artisans stopped talking when Jebi neared them, or gave them sly glances. One even winked at them, presumably in congratulations. Jebi didn’t know whether to find the gesture charming or grotesque.
One of the servants slipped and spilled a tray right in front of them. He apologized in an obsequious babble, bowing over and over in a way that made Jebi wince. Then they saw the slip of paper that he had left on the table: When the duelist prime leaves, you should escape. Jebi met the servant’s eyes, held his gaze, and nodded. He palmed the slip of paper and stuffed it into his mouth, then scurried off.
The next day, Vei approached Jebi after a grueling session going over the fake grammar with Nehen. Despite her dedication to courtesy, a smile warmed Vei’s dark eyes. “I thought I’d find you here,” she said. “I wanted to let you know—I’m going to be gone for several days on Ministry business, starting two days from now. The deputy minister has some matters to see to, and I must, of course, accompany him.”
This was probably duelist for I have to act as bodyguard. Jebi flashed on the memory of Vei’s unlucky dueling opponent, slashed almost in two, the livid redness of the blood. “When will I see you again?” Jebi asked, fumble-tongued and awkward not because they were unable to disentangle themself from a new lover, but because they remembered the anonymous message. How much time would they have to spring Arazi and escape?
Vei shrugged expressively. “I can’t predict the duration of the trip. I’ll see you when I see you.” She raised a hand to her collar and drew out the mae-deup charm that Jebi had given her before the duel. “I’m sure this will see me back safely.”
She hadn’t spoken in Hwamal, but Jebi smiled wanly. “Stay safe,” they said.
VEI CAME TO them again that night, after everyone but Tia had gone to bed. Jebi almost lost themself in the exchange of caresses. But even as Vei left trails of bruising kisses across their thighs, they thought, This is an opportunity to steal her keys. I will have no better.
If only they could ask Vei—but Vei worked for the deputy minister. Jebi had no reason to believe her disloyal. And Vei’s judgment—or Hafanden’s—could prove lethal. Jebi was afraid that if they made Vei choose between the Ministry and them, the choice would be no choice at all. Better not to confront her with it at all.
Bongsunga would have said I told you so. Or something more scathing. Jebi could hear her in their head.
This is what I get for entangling myself with a Razanei, even as a distraction. Half-Razanei. And the woman who’d killed her sister-in-law.
{She makes you happy and sad at the same time,} Arazi said. {I didn’t realize it would be so complicated for you.}
{It’s the nature of the situation,} Jebi replied. {If only I’d found a different distraction—}
“Something’s bothering you,” Vei murmured into the nape of their neck.
Jebi laughed weakly. “You’re not leaving for another duel, are you?” Another deflection. They didn’t like how good they were getting at those.
“I hope not,” Vei said, taking the question seriously, as Jebi had known she would. “But you never know. I can’t assume that I won’t.”
“Come back tomorrow night,” Jebi said, heart beating rapidly. They hoped that Vei would take it for desire, and drew their hand down between her legs, touching, teasing. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Vei laughed softly. “Oh?” She scissored her legs shut, trapping Jebi’s hand; grazed their shoulder with her teeth.
Jebi shivered as pleasure unknotted at their groin. Think about it later, they told themself, and surrendered.
THE NEXT MORNING, Jebi woke with the thrumming awareness that they only had one more day to set their plan into motion. Wary of triggering Vei’s suspicion, they did not visit Arazi that day. {I’ll make it up to you later, after we’re free,} they promised recklessly. {I’ll show you the yellow forsythias when springtime comes, and the pink and white azaleas for which our last dynasty was named.}
{I am glad I can see colors,} Arazi said, which made Jebi blink. They’d always taken color for granted, although they’d heard once of people who couldn’t distinguish certain hues. But then, if Arazi didn’t have a sense of taste, there was no guarantee its sense of sight worked the same as a human’s.
{When I see something grass-green, do you see sea-blue instead?} Jebi wondered.
{How would I know?} Arazi asked, reasonably enough.
During the day, they feigned devotion to the task of preparing and painting masks according to the proposed grammars that Nehen had hammered out with them. After all, the supplies were there; it would be a shame to let them go unused. Even if Hafanden would not have approved of Jebi’s purpose.
“So devoted,” Shon remarked as he glanced over at Jebi’s workbench and the half-painted mask they were working on.
At least he was speaking to them again. “I’m doing my best,” they said, trying not to let a waspish bite enter their tone.
“If I may—”
His almost mocking formality stung, but then, it was too much to expect anything but awkwardness between them right now. “Go ahead,” Jebi said.
Shon pointed out an inconsistency in the pigment’s saturation. “I don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, which might or might not have been true, “but you’ll want to see to that, all the same.”
