“We’re not really that close,” he said. He remembered last night and winced. “We’re definitely not that close. What if we—”
The garden doors slid open. Kiem and Bel both turned as Jainan paused in the doorway. He was slightly flushed from the exercise but not breathing heavily. He held something that Kiem realized was the stick, telescoped down to carry. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was just outside.”
Kiem stared at the stick—the quarterstaff—which had folded down to something bronze-sheened and no larger than Jainan’s hand. It kept Kiem’s eyes away from Jainan’s face and disordered hair, which were reminding him of last night in a distracting way. “Uh, good morning,” he said. “Nice morning for … martial art things. Right?”
There was a short pause. “Yes,” Jainan said. He sounded wary, which was understandable, because Kiem was making no sense at all. “Did you want me? I was late getting up and couldn’t see you anywhere.”
“No, no, not at all, I mean, yes, I mean—wristband! Right!” Kiem turned to the screen, trying to dispel last night’s memories. The screen was still showing the passphrase request. “Bel says your wristband—”
Jainan was already looking up at the display. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He crossed to the table and picked up the diagnostic bubble. The pearly gel yielded when he pressed a finger into it to activate the wristband’s print sensor. “I didn’t realize it needed another pass.” He whispered a passphrase.
The error screen cleared and the wall filled with messages. Kiem blinked, not sure what he was seeing, and then realized they were Jainan’s and looked away.
Jainan was watching him. “Was that all?”
Kiem cleared his throat. “Press Office sent over the cuttings from the wedding.” He turned to the folders on the low table. “Do you want to have a look? It’s not pretty.”
Jainan placed his quarterstaff on a side table, neatly aligning it with the edge. When he turned back, he seemed a shade more sallow, but his expression hadn’t changed. Kiem might have imagined the reaction. “I would like to see.”
Kiem handed him the folders. He hadn’t been careful; his fingers nearly brushed Jainan’s arm, and Jainan all but dropped the folder trying not to touch him. Kiem hastily stepped back, wondering how he’d gotten it so wrong last night as to think Jainan actually wanted physical contact. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that, so he turned away to give Jainan some space and poked at the diagnostic shell. It looked like Jainan’s passphrase had automatically bound their accounts together. Surely there was a way to fix that.
“These are the interviews you did after the ceremony,” Jainan said, without looking up. He had turned to the other folder. “I apologize that I didn’t stay.”
“You had to pack,” Kiem said. “No need to apologize. Anyway, some of the articles came out pretty rubbish, sorry about that, did my best. Anything about us in the Thean folder?”
“There are a number of articles,” Jainan said, skimming the thick blocks of text. He couldn’t possibly have had time to read all of that. “Most of them are neutral; the tone is fairly standard for our—I mean, for Thea’s mainstream outlets.” He paused, glanced at Kiem, and then said, “I am afraid the fringe newslogs are much more volatile. Many of them are less than complimentary about Iskat. Four of them name me as a traitor to the planet.”
“What?” Kiem said, nearly fumbling the diagnostic shell. “That’s ridiculous. That’s offensive.” Jainan gave a miniscule shrug, his eyes still skimming over the folder. Kiem strode a couple of abortive paces across the room and turned back. “Can we blacklist them? Bel?”
“They were never on the list in the first place,” Bel said. “They’re Thean outlets. You might as well invite the Sefalan gossip logs.”
“But they can’t just make up—” Kiem started, then broke off when he saw Jainan try to say something. Jainan shut his mouth. “Go on.”
It took Jainan a moment to apparently reformulate his sentence. “There is a great deal of detail here.”
He’d gone back to Kiem’s post-wedding interviews. Kiem frowned, distracted from his indignation, and tried to remember what he’d said. “Is there?” He thought he’d been pretty impersonal, but he was used to the press. “Which bit?”
“The—” Jainan paused, and his finger skated over several articles as if he didn’t want to touch them. “No, it’s not important.” He looked back at Kiem. “I was just going to shower.”
“Right,” Kiem said. “We’ll—Bel will fix your wristband. We’re meeting the Auditor this afternoon, and I have to go to a reception at the College first. How do you feel about university visits?”
“I can be ready in ten minutes,” Jainan said.
That was heartening news and distracted Kiem from the whole press debacle. At least there was something they could do together that didn’t involve romantic dinners that bored Jainan to sleep. “Take your time; it doesn’t start until eleven. Is there anything you need?”
“No,” Jainan said. It would have been abrupt, but he had an odd habit of leaving a pause afterward, as if it was open to negotiation. He waited for a moment, then disappeared into the bathroom. Bel pulled the messages off the wall and took Jainan’s wristband into the study, leaving Kiem by himself with the newslog articles.
“Minor problems,” Kiem said to the accusing spread of press folders. The Thean one was currently showing a newslog image of a Thean politician who looked very much like Lady Ressid. “A few articles, one bad night, so what? Don’t look at me like that. I can fix this.” He shut the folder and stared at the wall.
* * *
Arlusk wasn’t even the biggest city on the planet—there were industrial settlements on other continents and a data-sink sprawl farther toward the ice-covered south—but it was the oldest. The Imperial College, Iskat’s principal state-affiliated university, was in the part of town built in the first flush of enthusiasm after the colony started to thrive. The grand granite facades and shabby modulus builds were as familiar to Kiem as his own living room.
This was an official visit, though, so he and Jainan sat in the back of one of the palace’s official flyers as it crawled slowly downhill. Bel had booked a palace chauffeur and sent them off with a briefing pack in a folder, since Jainan’s wristband still wasn’t working, and an injunction to Kiem not to promise anyone funding under any circumstances.
Now the briefing folder glowed gently on Jainan’s lap as he sat facing Kiem. Jainan seemed deeply immersed in the mundane details of the Imperial College, so with an enormous effort, Kiem had managed not to say anything for the last five minutes. The back seats had always seemed like more space than you really needed, but right now Kiem was acutely aware of where his feet were and had moved them several times to avoid touching Jainan’s.
Kiem’s wristband pinged. “Oh, right,” he said, forgetting he was trying to be quiet. Jainan looked up, and since Kiem had already disturbed him, he decided to read the message off anyway. “Bel’s warning us that there’ll be a couple of photographers. I suppose there’s interest because of the wedding.”