“It’s a lot of work,” he said ruefully, but didn’t offer further complaint.
Wen tried to encourage him. “I’ve heard the first year is the hardest.”
Anden nodded. “There’s so much material in the first year, and you have to learn to think of jade abilities in a completely different way. I hope this next year will be a little easier.” He saw Wen hesitating to pick up the soup ladle and reached for it himself, spooning the seafood soup into a bowl for her. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it,” he admitted, “but if I fail at this, there’s nothing else I can do that’ll be of any use.”
“Anden,” Wen said sternly, “you sh-shouldn’t say that. Think about what you did even while living with . . . with . . . without jade in a foreign country. Growing up, everyone made you think your worth was about jade ability, when it’s . . . it’s obviously because of who you are as a person. Your cousins know that by now, even if you were to drop out of medical school tomorrow.” She was so adamant about making her point that she barely noticed the triumph of speaking several sentences together with so few stumbles.
Anden flushed and seemed suddenly engrossed in pushing the shrimp on his plate around in a puddle of garlic sauce. “Thank you for saying so,” he said after a moment. “I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” Wen could understand why the young man might be feeling uncertain tonight. Anden’s place at the head table confirmed to everyone that the Pillar had brought his previously disgraced cousin back into the family, but that didn’t mean the heavily jaded warriors and wealthy businessmen of the clan weren’t eyeing him with pity and skepticism. As much pity and skepticism as they likely felt toward her, Wen thought. So much bad luck near the top, they would murmur.
Hilo’s joking orders notwithstanding, it seemed food continued to arrive at a rate faster than it could be consumed. The tables were laden with roast suckling pig, steamed fish in ginger broth, pea shoots with garlic, fried octopus. A band of hired drummers escorted the previous year out with thunderous energy, and two adjacent tables of Fists challenged each other to a drinking game. Niko, Ru, and Jaya came over to hug their parents good night before Hilo’s mother took them inside and put them to bed. A veil of exhaustion was descending over Wen’s vision, turning everything gauzy, seeping into each muscle and gumming up her thoughts.
She noticed that Juen and his wife had left the table some time ago, but now the Horn appeared behind Wen’s chair and leaned over to speak to Hilo. “Kaul-jen. My wife went back to our house to put the kids to bed, but she rushed back to tell me the news that’s on the radio.” He spoke near the Pillar’s ear, but had to raise his voice enough over the sound of popping firecrackers that Wen could still hear him. “An Ygutanian spy plane was shot down by Espenian fighter craft over Euman Island two hours ago. It crashed near the naval base. The pilot survived the landing but killed himself before he could be captured. The Ygutanian and Espenian governments are throwing accusations at each other over the incident and threatening war in the Amaric.”
As Juen spoke, Hilo’s expression did not change much outwardly, but Wen saw the light in his eyes shift from relaxed good humor to disbelief to anger in a few seconds, like a flame turning from red to orange to blue. “Of all the fucking times,” he breathed through his teeth.
“The Royal Council is meeting in an emergency session tomorrow.” Juen looked at the exuberant party in progress. The drummers had begun a countdown to midnight and another cask of hoji was opened. Even Shae seemed to be having a good time. “Should we tell people?” the Horn asked.
The muscles of Hilo’s jaw flexed under the skin. “No,” he said. “They’ll find out soon enough. Let everyone start the New Year in a good mood.” He muttered darkly, “It might be the only chance we have to call down good luck, and we’re going to fucking need it.”
“I’ll speak quietly only to the senior Fists, then,” Juen suggested. “So they’re ready to keep order in our territories if people start panicking about an invasion.”
When the Horn departed, Wen reached for her husband’s arm. She intended to say, “You need to talk to Shae tonight, too. The Weather Man’s office should align with our loyalists in the Royal Council before anyone makes a statement.” Instead, her elbow knocked over a full cup of tea, spilling it across both their laps. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out—she felt as if the words had been shoved back down into her chest. She could only look up at Hilo helplessly.