“You will certainly talk to Jainan afterward,” the Emperor said. “That boy has gone a great deal too far. You will remind him of his duty.”
“I will?” Kiem said. “Saving Your Majesty’s presence, it sounds like he’s already said what he’s going to say. You can’t wipe it off the Consult’s pages.”
Rakal said, in a low, flat voice, “It is ongoing. He leaked a security camera video and pictures of you and him to four organizations after the initial Consult interview.”
“And how do we know, you ask?” the Emperor said. “Because the dratted man apparently requested that each of them send a copy of their article to my Private Office—why are you wearing that particularly vacuous grin?”
Jainan did not strike out and create a random mess, like Kiem would have done. He caused deliberate, targeted mayhem. “I love him,” Kiem said. He shouldn’t say it. Jainan’s declarations had just been politics, he knew that, but Kiem was unable to stop smiling.
“Of course you do,” the Emperor said. “You have never made good choices. Sell this, or the Empire falls.”
She cut the connection. Kiem stepped back, his mind whirling with hope and doubt, and let Rakal cut theirs.
* * *
Everything in the corridors leading to the Observation Hall had been freshly cleaned and polished. The white walls glittered, a pristine runner had been laid underfoot, and silver light fittings shone like mirrors. As Jainan turned into the curved walkway to the anterooms he was sharply visible against the pale background in the deep green of his clan uniform. Feria used several shades of green with gold patterns boldly climbing over them like vines, and whether it was the un-Iskat patterns or the fact his face was in all the newslogs, he had felt stares on him all the way from the med room. It made him ensure his head was up and put a fraction of extra length in his stride. Let them stare.
He knew Ressid had landed, along with the rest of the Thean contingent. He had kept his messages with her brief because Hani’s interview wasn’t something he wanted to talk about unless it was in person, but he knew she had seen it. Right now Ressid would be in the pre-treaty press conference—and according to Bel, that was where Kiem was as well. Jainan suspected that the moment he walked into the press conference, he would become the center of attention himself, but it couldn’t be helped. He had gone to the press and the world had not ended. He could weather it.
And he had waited long enough. He was well enough to walk, he was looking presentable, and he was going to find Kiem and nail down this treaty if he had to go through half the station to do it.
The hallway and staircase leading up were nearly empty, although a low murmur of voices came from the Observation Hall itself. A couple of glamorously dressed women with newslog equipment had just reached the top of the staircase, awkward in the light gravity, and were being ushered in by an attendant. Jainan was late; it had taken longer for the doctors to do the final checks than he had anticipated.
He slipped into the side of the hall. It had been set up for the conference with a semicircular dais in front of the grand sweep of windows, a wash of stars forming the backdrop to the podium itself. The first thing he saw was the Auditor, seated at the back with his arms folded, the seats deserted for three rows around him and his staff. The second thing Jainan saw was Ressid at the podium in the middle of an answer, her emphatic cadences so familiar it was disorienting. As Jainan silently closed the door behind him, he scanned the handful of Theans and Iskaners sitting behind her on the stage. He barely looked at any of them except Kiem.
Kiem was at the end of the row, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his seat. His elbows rested on his knees and his foot jiggled restlessly, as if he couldn’t bear to be in a space as confined as a chair. His face was lined with anxiousness, but he was solid and real and alive, and for a moment Jainan was an invisible observer in a private bubble of affection.
It only took seconds for one of the reporters in the audience to turn their head and notice the newcomer. Jainan’s arrival spread out through the crowd like a ripple. Photographers turned their lenses. At the front, Ressid hadn’t yet noticed.
“… remains committed to the treaty,” she said. “Discussions are still underway with the Resolution’s Auditor…” She faltered and stopped.
Jainan swallowed, ignoring all the press, and returned her gaze. He wasn’t twenty-two, newly married and naive anymore. He wasn’t twenty-six and trying to hide. He and Ressid would have to talk, and until then, he could at least look her in the eye.
Not everyone in the front row had noticed. One of the reporters took advantage of the gap to jump in. “And Count Jainan’s press statements today? Can you comment on that?”
Ressid was not a trained diplomat for nothing. The steel returned to her voice as she turned her attention back to the press. “I must disclose a personal interest. You are all aware Count Jainan is my brother.” As she said my brother, her eyes went briefly back to Jainan, fierce and uncompromising, and then bored into the reporter again. “After the treaty is signed, we demand that Count Jainan comes to live on Thea.”
Jainan stopped in shock.
A murmur rose around him. On the dais behind Ressid, Kiem looked as if someone had finally landed a blow he’d been dreading. His shoulders slumped.
“Next question,” Ressid said. Jainan realized she was trying to protect him from the glare of attention.
“No,” someone said sharply. “Stop.” Jainan realized it was him.
Kiem looked up. The whole room was paying attention now, but that wasn’t important. Jainan saw the moment Kiem realized he was there. He saw the way Kiem straightened from his slump like someone had pulled him up, and he saw Kiem’s whole expression light up with hope.
Jainan had never been good at communicating, but he didn’t have to be, because now his certainty was a cascading river buoying him along. As he strode up to the front, camera lenses started turning on him. He ignored them. He ignored everything except the way Kiem shot out of his chair, caught his foot on the leg of it, stumbled, reached out.
Jainan caught his hands. He hadn’t meant to clutch them as tightly as he did. “Kiem.”
“Jainan,” Kiem said, as if his name was the first breath of air he’d drawn in minutes. “You—you’re—you’re—”
“What’s this about?” Jainan said.
“Splitting us up?” Kiem said. He didn’t seem to be able to string more than a few words together. People had started to call questions from behind Jainan, but neither of them paid attention. “I didn’t—”
“I’m clearly not leaving now,” Jainan said. “This should be obvious. I love you.”
“You do? You do. I mean. Yes!” Kiem’s face was incredulous and joyful. “I do too! Of course I love you! I have for ages! Ressid thought—”
The dam inside Jainan burst. “Kiem,” he said, and grabbed his wrist. “How did they let it get this far?” Kiem came with him, confused but willing, as Jainan turned to the front of the stage.
“Your Grace!” a reporter shouted, cutting across the babble of voices. “Will you make a statement?”