broccolifloret

  The coat hanger held the usual rank and file of summer wool jackets and felt hats and, for tonight, a white-and-gold cap with a green feather and a white-and-gold jacket. A duffel bag with the arrow bird insignia slumped beneath them.

  How fast everything had returned to normal. And even faster, normal had been shattered forever.

  The twins turned away from the window as I entered, not bothering to pretend they hadn't tried to spy on us. It wasn't any of their business, so I went to the offerings shelf without looking at them.

  The main building had two rooms: the kitchen and Everything Else. In the kitchen, the other adults shouted way too loud for such a small space and knocked pots and spoons and chopping blocks around. I let them be for the moment. In Everything Else, past generations of Mamanis had strewn sheepskin rugs on the floor and carved colorful squat stools and shaped cy jars like happy mitemas. Our radio set squatted fat and silent in a corner, facing shelves crammed floor-to-ceiling with books. Next to the shelves, a couple of looms. We got a really good weaver in each generation: Grandma Alba, Auntie Estrel, Sol. I could do it but only passably, so I usually stuck to things like dyeing. Hadn’t done that in a while though.

  You never notice the good things while you still have them, don't you?

  A hint of smoke and flowers lingered over the shelf by the western window. It held reeds and small ptes, a knife, and other things helpful for making offerings. We talk about lighting candles for the spirits, but wax ain't cheap so we lit reeds instead. They're still good to light someone's way through the Underworld, or so they say. I wasn't in a rush to find out.

  “Ghost from tonight, don't get lost in the Underworld, will you?” I set a reed on a holder and lit it with a fire spell of my own. That much I could do without a bead, though not more.

  Sol came to stand next to me. “Isn't that your new lover's job?”

  “You were raised better than that. Since when do we hope the government will look out for us instead of looking out for each other?”

  “He’s the government? Isn’t he your lover?”

  “Besides, a single person can’t light candles for everyone who dies. When would they find enough time?”

  Sol huffed in frustration.

  I went into the kitchen next, the twins right behind me. With six people already there, we barely managed to squeeze ourselves in. A scent of herbs and grease hung in the air, despite the open window; dinner was already in the oven. Lucero stood aside wearing only a pair of short pants, his belly hanging over his belt. He’d gotten a hold of Valentino's pocket watch, fortunately still attached to its chain and its owner. Those were almost as rare as motorcycles around there. My cousin seemed to be attempting to figure out the working of its mechanisms.

  Valentino kept an eye on him. He didn't look any less stuffy without his jacket. Maybe it was ‘cause he was still overdressed with his cravat and vest, or ‘cause he stood as if he was about to be called on to pass muster.

  “Set the table, will ya?” Grandma Alba told us. She turned to Lucero. “And you, go put a shirt on before dinner.”

  Lucero grudgingly relinquished Valentino’s watch.

  Me and the twins gathered trays piled high with dishes and bowls and cutlery. Valentino picked one too and followed us to the table.

  “Take a seat,” I told Valentino as we distributed tableware. “You're a guest after all.”

  He smiled. Did he look almost apologetic? I thought so. “More of an interloper, I'd say.”

  I shrugged. “Not much point in sweating the details.”

  “Fair enough. I have something to deliver to Your Excellency.”

  "It wouldn't be a real summons otherwise, would it? Let's go outside.” I gnced at my cousins over my shoulder. “And you stay here.”

  A moment ter Valentino and me sat on the bench under the espinillos. Only a bit of a breeze stirred our hair. It was the kind of peaceful night when you believed in creatures from the Underworld as much as in dancing vipers.

  He gave me an envelope of thick smooth paper. It was sealed with the Megarchon's emblem, a winged tiger. Apparently it symbolized the Imperium, the source of the Megarchon’s power. Unauthorized reproductions were treason and that always carried the capital punishment. It went without saying you wouldn't be authorized unless you were the Megarchon's most beloved little great-grandchild or something. Inside were two things. One was the expected letter, which I skimmed just in case. You ignored that woman's words at your own risk. Her Magnificence, ruler of the Protectorates of Zalmuric and Overseas, and so on, says go to Vorsa immediately if you know what's good for you. (That st part was implied yet most eloquent.) No expnations or context as she was beyond expining herself, especially to someone like me.

  The other thing was far more interesting: a small checkbook sealed with winged tigers and signed by high-ranking officers on every page. Twelve of them, each worth one thousand nureals. I didn't want to know what'd happen to anybody caught falsifying that.

  “For travel expenses,” Valentino said.

  That was far more nureals than us Mamanis had ever owned at a time, but I wasn’t surprised. After all, as much as none of the Lemarezins wanted me in their family, I still shared their blood. You can't let one of them travel like a peasant. It sets a bad precedent.

  “You’re lucky you found me at home,” I said.

  True, but only in part. At twenty-four, I was more than old enough to have left for the city to make some money and meet new people and sometimes to study. My Dad stood out in that he went all the way to the capital and never came back, only sent me home as his token. As for me, it’s not as if I stayed in the farmhold all year ‘round. I left every so often but returned a few days or weeks ter. After all, I’d suspected the Megarchon would send for me sooner or ter. And those things always happen when you least expect them.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “I may be only one guard, but I'm a combat-trained Sabrewing. I'll keep Your Excellency safe and sound.”

  Did he suspect the necromancer had come after me, too? Or perhaps he knew something I didn’t? I ought to remain free of assumptions until I found proof either way.

  If that woman wanted to get rid of me, she wouldn't bother summoning me in the first pce. Megarchons simply have you arrested for treason on nothing more than their say-so. Seeing how she didn’t bother, my safety was ensured during the trip, at the very least. How comforting. Ha.

  “Then I’ll trust you, Sergeant Vargas.”

  Valentino smiled. His nose was beaky, his fingertips square. Probably ‘cause of all those push-ups they make guards do at the Academy, he had really nice arms. I might’ve tried to help him loosen up, except Vanth had staked a cim on me. Probably for the best, to be honest. You should never fuck a guard.

  I stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you your apartment.”

  He was well-mannered enough to compliment us on the comfort and neatness of it. I made sure he had clean bedsheets and a gourd of chicha, that the toilet hadn't gotten clogged with dust while nobody used it, and that he'd know which apartment was mine in case he needed anything.

  “Anything else I can do for you?” I asked.

  Valentino cleared his throat. “Nothing, thank you. Your Excellency has been beyond kind.”

  I think it was the shifty look in his eyes that clued me in—the look of someone who is trying not to notice something.

  A chill went down my spine like a gust of air from the Underworld. We didn’t had a winged tiger in dispy anywhere!

  See, it wasn’t exactly required by w to have that stupid tiger in your house. Or workpce, public building, whatever. But it was strongly encouraged. After all, why wouldn’t you show your support for Their Magnificence? Weren’t you overcome with respect and admiration for their noble rule? Weren’t you thankful to be born in such an age, where wars were a thing of the past and the entire world marched in lockstep to the dictates of a greater mind? Pretty suspicious not having one, don't you think? Guards sure think so. If they have a hankering to come after you, they'll often search your house for the accursed tiger and, if they don’t find a conspicuous enough one, they’ll use that as an excuse to call you a traitor. So it’s a good idea to keep one around. It won't deter guards determined to fuck your life up, but it will prevent the indifferent ones from getting any ideas.

  Our hills were too far from anywhere that mattered, however. Most people still kept a winged tiger around somewhere, but only ever bothered to repce them when they were about to become unrecognizable. Our guards had never gone searching for one, as far as I knew.

  And my grandmas hated that woman. They couldn’t show her any kind of defiance that mattered, so they simply skipped the winged tiger.

  They didn’t expect a Sabrewing to show up at our pce.

  This was my fault. I knew it’d happen sometime. It’s just that, well. I also hated that woman. But that's no excuse!

  I could fix it, though. Valentino looked like he regretted noticing that. If he needed a little bribe to forget it just as quick, I gave cursedly good head.

  I looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Well, if anything in your accomodations is inadequate, please come talk to me and I’ll make sure to put you perfectly at ease."

  Valentino ughed. “I don’t think I’ll need it, but thanks all the same.”

  I saluted him and went to my room, to put that checkbook somewhere safe. Halfway through, I remembered Vanth. I was so used to relying on myself only, I didn’t occur to me I could request someone else’s help. Vanth had stood up for my family—but against a necromancer, not a servant of the Megarchon. Even if he’d oathed himself to me, he’d oathed himself to that woman first. I didn’t know how far I could trust him.

  Since I was already there, I might as well pack. It's not as if it'd take long. I spread an aguayo over my cot. So soft and light, like a downy mitema chick; Grandma Alba had woven it for me in the colors of a clear sky. Obviously I wouldn't be allowed to appear in that woman's lofty presence wearing work shirts and pants, which is all I owned, so I folded up just enough clothes for the road. The utility knife would stay in my boot, safely hidden and easy to reach. I pried one of the checks loose and slid it under the sewing basket, then wrapped the checkbook and a handful of spell neckces in a clean pair of socks and hid them in a pair of underwear.

  So I belonged to Vanth, didn’t I?

  I supposed it wasn’t wrong. Not that I was going to whine about it, mind you. I’d thrown myself at him for a reason. I’d gotten what I wanted, right?

  I supposed he belonged to me, too. An oath went both ways. Would that make any difference in the practice, though? I was a dirt-poor farmer and he the King of the Dying Sun.

  He’d oathed himself to me! No one could cim he’d acquired me cheaply. And he hadn’t done that just ‘cause he wanted my ass. Sure it was a great ass, but nobody tied their own life to a complete stranger’s just to get id. Something else was going on.

  Vanth hadn’t used that woman’s title. Did it mean anything? It felt like it had to. Nothing is as dangerous as wishful thinking, however. I couldn’t assume he agreed with me. Until I knew more, my mind should remain open. Impartial.

  Not that he was going to make it easy. I could already tell.

  The sewing kit was too practical and easy to repce not to bring along too. Now I was done. I folded the aguayo into a snug bundle.

  I was still too numb to feel any kind of appetite, but if I tried to skip dinner someone would come fetch me, so I went to the main house anyway. As I entered, the aroma of baked meat rushed out to greet me and my stomach came alive. Oh, fine!

  Everyone had gathered at the table. Auntie Estrel was opening a bottle of the beer we got from El Meandro. If you didn’t know my family, you probably wouldn’t have noticed anything out of pce. However, I could tell everyone was too quiet. The kids had flocked together in one corner of the table. My grandmas didn’t say anything at all. Even Auntie Estrel wasn’t ranting as much as usual. And of course, the beer and the meat.

  Couldn’t they have just pretended it was a regur night? Guess not.

  “Hey, Azul!” Untie Lago leaned over the table. “I seem to remember you liked this beer.”

  I took a seat. “Dark and slightly fruity, wasn’t it? Yeah, I liked it. Should go well with—baked mutton, is what we’re having?” I switched to Khachimik, talking fast in case Valentino understood some of it. "You shouldn't have bothered. It's not as if our guest has any room to demand a good meal, showing up without warning and all."

  “The mutton is already baked though,” Untie Lago said philosophically. “Have a drink.”

  I held up a bowl for them to pour in. Of course Valentino wasn't the real reason they'd served up the best meal they could—but it’s not as if they’d asked my opinion either.

  Oh, well. Any meal where we got to have meat was a good meal.

  Across the table, Valentino raised his own bowl to me. I suspected Auntie Estrel had contrived to make him sit away from her children. It suited me. Seeing how Valentino and me would soon be going on a trip together, we should start getting along.

  “Do you like spicy food?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Your Excellency’s grandmas let me try the sauce as they prepared it, to make sure it'd be to my taste. But it was so good, they really shouldn't have worried.”

  It was so weird to talk with a well-mannered guard.

  I passed him an angry-red bowl of ljwa sauce. “There’s also locoto in the sad, so keep that in mind. They’re those slices of pepper.”

  “I assume the butter is homemade too.” He was in fact spreading herb butter on a slice of golden bread.

  “Yeah, I churned it. Didn't came out too bad, considering.” So you could argue I did help out with dinner after all. I served him a big baked sweet potato and a couple of nice greasy tortils, all piping hot. “These are made of kiwicha flour. Did you try it before?”

  “Can’t say I did, Your Excellency.”

  “We grow the grain ourselves, but grind it in the mill at El Meandro. We pay in produce for the service. That’s how we manage for most things, really.” I gave him several heaped spoonfuls of k’allu. That was the sad: locoto, red onion, tomato, and crumbly sheep cheese, with aromatic herbs. Spicy and refreshing at the same time; so good in the summer. Though there wasn’t much room left in his pte, I made sure to fit a thick juicy sb of mutton as well, careful not to send the pile of k’allu tumbling off.

  “This is some really good mutton,” Valentino said. “So tender and perfectly matched with the sweet-and-sour combination of the sweet potato and spicy sad.”

  “Why, thanks.” No way he didn’t have much better fare at the capital. His pay couldn't be that bad. Of course I’d choose my family’s cooking over any other—but our sheep were raised for wool and milk, not meat. They're not all that tasty, so we usually just fed the dead ones to the mitemas. Still, mutton was mutton, and my grandmas did make sure to bake it in a slow ember fire till it was just as tender as Valentino cimed.

  “So what's going on in the capital?” I asked.

  “I'm very busy with my duties, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to tell Your Excellency anything interesting. I do go to the pys.”

  Guarding one of the Lemarezins, maybe? I would not mention those people at our table.

  “Hmm. I also go to the pys sometimes, but I don’t think we get the same ones as you. What’s popur over there?”

  In the end, we talked about pys a lot. The Department of Decorous Behavior will make sure they're devoid of politically unsafe subjects, so we might as well avail us of their hard work. As things went on like this, dinner was finished and Auntie Estrel brought coffee. She makes the best coffee in our family.

  There was something else I wanted to ask Valentino.

  “Just wondering, have you met His Illustrious Highness before? I suppose he goes to court.”

  Valentino stirred milk in his coffee. That’s how I like it too. Bck coffee will burn a hole in my aesophagus. “Actually, he doesn't—I’ve heard the st time was to take up his oaths. Ten years ago, if I’m not mistaken. As I understand it, this is how Their Illustrious Highnesses operate. They will only show themselves when summoned by Their Magnificences. I assume their duties keep them busy enough.”

  I nodded along, but suspected he must know something more. The King of the Dying Sun was too big a deal. Ministers and governors could inherit their position from a parent if everything went well, but at any moment, the Megarchon could take it away and hand it to someone else—which goes to expin why they were constantly squabbling and backstabbing each other. But not the King of the Dying Sun. That position was strictly hereditary—the st true aristocrats left in the entire continent, some of the st in the entire world.

  And yet, before a King of the Dying Sun was allowed to cim their title, they had to take a number of oaths to limit their power. Most importantly, they couldn’t harm any of the Megarchon’s subjects unless that person reached into the Underworld first. My grandmas thought this was ‘cause the King of the Dying Sun was the only person in the world who could even think of rivaling the Megarchon’s power. One wielded the Imperium, but the other stood at the gates of the Underworld.

  I wasn't entirely sure about it, myself.

  The first time I heard about the King of the Dying Sun, I was four. One of the mitemas was already dead when I went to open their pen. Grandma Alba found me kneeling next to the birdie's corpse, holding its eye open and peering into it. That was the first time I understood death is a thing that happens to all living beings, and it’d happen to me and to everyone I held dear. But I didn't find that very scary, or even sad. Mostly I was curious. This was before the twins were born, when Auntie Estrel lived in the city and hadn't married Untie Lago yet. It was only my grandmas and me, and I pelted them with questions as they skinned the dead birdie for leather. (Mitema feathers are good stuffing for pillows and cushions. The meat goes to feed their fellow birdies.)

  Luckily, my grandmas knew how to expin complicated things to children. Such as that some people become ghosts and others reincarnate, and we don't really know how it works. This was very frustrating to me, who wanted all the answers.

  “So you can turn into a tree when you're dead?” I said. “That’s so boring! Who wants to be a tree?”

  “I wouldn’t mind being a tree,” Grandma Cielo mused.

  “But they’re stuck in the same pce all the time.”

  “That’s exactly why, sweetie. After you’ve lived a whole life, you’ll cherish the opportunity to just stay pnted in the same pce for decades.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Well, I don’t wanna be a tree.”

  “Maybe you can learn somethin' from it,” Grandma Alba said.

  “Maybe I was already a tree. Like in a past life. So now I don’t have anything left to learn.”

  “Oh? You’ve learned to stay still for five minutes?” Grandma Cielo said. I ran away from her and around the skinning table.

  ‘“Anyway,” Grandma Alba said, “there’s so much we don’t know about the Underworld. People who go there don't come back alive. More often they don't go alive to begin with. There’s no point in worrying about those things before they happen.”

  “You mean like ghosts? Am I gonna be a ghost?”

  “Quiet, child! No you won't. That's for people who can’t rest in peace.”

  “That’s me, grandma. You said that.”

  “No, I said you won’t let anybody have a moment of peace. That’s different.”

  “That means people who did real bad things,” Grandma Cielo expined. “And you’re a good boy. Even if you could be a little bit more like a tree.”

  “I don't care if I'm a ghost. Better than being a tree.” Being a child, I naturally said all sorts of outrageous things.

  “Then the King of the Dying Sun will take you away,” Grandma Alba said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Why, he’s the reason we don’t have all sorts of ghastly things roaming about, making trouble for decent folks. Who wants to be haunted?”

  “And he’s a ghost?”

  “None of that. He’s a person like you and me. We herd sheep and pnt crops, he takes ghosts to the Underworld and stops necromancers from doing harm. The world needs all sorts.”

  That “he” my grandmas spoke of wasn’t Vanth, obviously, but his parent. I knew nothing about him. I had a vague idea of reading somewhere Kings of the Dying Sun can retire, but seeing how Vanth had been sworn in pretty damn young, I suspected his predecessor wasn’t with us anymore. Well, not my problem.

  “Just wondering,” I said, “wouldn't the papers love to gossip about His Illustrious Highness?”

  Valentino frowned at his coffee cup. Pretty sure I managed to hit upon something, but what exactly I had no idea.

  “His Illustrious Highness is very reserved.”

  “I see.” Well, “reserved” wasn't exactly the word I would've chosen. “Antisocial”, more like it. But rich people don't need good personalities, even the ones who deal mostly with living people.

  Valentino set his empty cup on a tray as he stood up. “It's only proper that I wash the dishes, if present company doesn’t mind.”

  I sprang to my feet. “Well, if you insist.”

  Before he had time to change his mind, I'd put a tray piled up high with tableware on his arms. Auntie Estrel and Untie Lago had the remaining tray ready for me. I steered Valentino toward the kitchen. Hopefully he hadn't been na?ve enough to think we wouldn't take advantage of his offer.

  broccolifloret